


Black Prince

by VVSIGNOFTHECROSS



Series: Baratheon Inc [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-19 00:59:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 59,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13693560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VVSIGNOFTHECROSS/pseuds/VVSIGNOFTHECROSS
Summary: Follow Jon Baratheon as he and Westeros come to terms with this new Westeros that his father has created, how will they handle trouble from within, Targaryens who plot revenge in the East, forces from beyond the wall and everywhere else.





	1. Two Jons

**Prince Jon Baratheon**

****

The doors opened and the herald announced them. “Their Majesties, King Robert and Queen Cersei Baratheon. Their Royal Highnesses, Prince Jon and Princess Myrcella Baratheon, Their Royal Highnesses, Prince Tommen and Princess Joanna Baratheon and His Royal Highness Prince Joffrey.” They walked in, father and mother first, then Jon and Myrcella, Tommen and Joanna followed, and Joffrey walked behind them all. Jon looked at his sister and smiled, she looked beautiful, and so full grown as well, which was reasonable as she was only a year younger than him. Tommen was filling out as well, he’d have the girls chasing after him soon enough, Joanna looked like a right little madam, whilst Joffrey, the youngest of the Baratheon children was, well the less said about him the better. They filed into the throne room, and then took their places, the throne behind them, father right in front of it. Once father was seated they all took their places.

The King stood, and they all stood. Father held a cup of wine in his hand. He looked around the throne room, and then at Jon. “For six years my son has been in Oldstones, learning what it means to be a man, learning the art of ruling and friendship. He has returned, and for that we are most grateful. He has come back different, and for that we are also grateful. Let us now raise a toast and celebrate for our son has returned. To Prince Jon!”

“To Prince Jon!” Came the response, Jon blushed slightly but drank all the same. The King sat down and they all took their seats. Jon was sat to his father’s right handside, whilst mother was sat to father’s left. Almost at once the food was served, some sort of chicken with soup, Jon tucked into it, not used to such luxurious food after so long at Oldstones, where even though they weren’t starved they weren’t exactly provided the greatest of luxuries. As he ate, his father laughed.

“Got a bit of an appetite in you, have you lad?” Jon looked up and saw his father looking at him with some amusement in his eyes.

“Yes, the food at Oldstones was nowhere as nice as it is here.” Jon replied.

His father laughed. “Good, good. Now, dig in, eat, enjoy the food, before the vultures come.” Jon obliged and ate with gusto. He finished his starter within a few moments. It seemed his father was going to let him lead things, for his father soon finished his own food, putting his fork and knife down on his plate. The servants came and took the food from everyone else, Jon heard someone grumbling, but that was the law, if the King finished eating something, no matter what state your own food was at, you too were finished. The mains were placed before them, and Jon gasped.

“You remembered?” He asked, looking at his mother.

“Of course.” Mother replied smiling. Jon turned and dug in, roasted beef with potatoes and sauce, his favourite meal, always had been. He’d hankered after it at Oldstones, and he’d gone six years without it, so having the opportunity to eat it now was something he’d cherish forever. He ate and ate, and then stopped, savouring the taste of the beef in his mouth. He looked at his mother and saw her smiling at him.

“Thank you, Mama.” He replied. He turned back to his food and kept eating. When he was finished, father too finished and as the food was taken away, father spoke.

“So, tell me, how was your journey?” Jon wondered what uncle Jaime had told father, as a member of the Kingsguard, it would have been up to Ser Jaime to inform the King of everything that had happened. No doubt father knew already, but perhaps he just wanted to hear it from Jon?

“The journey was relatively uneventful, father, truth be told, it was sort of boring. We stopped off at Harrenhal and Lady Whent mentioned that she wants some help regarding the upkeep of the castle. I think she’s starting to get a bit tired of keeping the thing. I said I’d mention it to you.” Jon said, his father laughed, and Jon blushed. “I guess, perhaps I just wanted to tell you that straight away.”

“No harm done.” Father replied.

“Is it true that you met a dwarf?” Tommen asked. Jon looked at his brother and wondered where he’d heard that.

“Dwarf?” Father asked. “What dwarf?”

Jon sighed, he supposed he’d have to tell father, he didn’t have to tell him or mother about that so called prophecy that the dwarf had uttered, that he could keep to himself. “Yes, we met a dwarf, the Ghost of High Heart. She spoke a lot of nonsense.”

There was a strange look on Mother’s face when she replied. “I am sure she did.”

“What was Ser Brynden like?” Tommen asked, his interest in that particular story minimised now by mother’s clear unease.

“Oh,” Jon smiled with a grin. “He’s a bit of an old hag now, he grumbles and runs you hard. But he is a good teacher, very good with swords and lances. And Maester Gormon is a very good tutor also.” Jon looked over to where Maester Pycelle looked as if he were about to fall into his soup. “Perhaps he might add a bit of alertness to the maester’s realm?”

Father guffawed at that, causing some of the people at the tables lower down to look up. “I am sure he would, but of course the citadel won’t change the Grand Maester role until our current grand maester croaks it.”

Jon nodded, laughing slightly at the disapproving look Mother shot father, he’d missed this. Even though he’d not change his experience at Oldstones for anything, he’d missed being here at home. He then looked at Myrcella who was sat next to Mother and said. “You know, Robb Stark was asking me about you. I think he’s got a bit of a crush.”

Myrcella blushed. “What?”

Jon smirked. “Come now Cella, don’t be coy, I know you’ve been writing to him, and I know he’s been writing to you. And I know both Mother and Father know about this. So, why don’t you share with the family what’s been happening?”

Surprisingly, it was Father who came to Cella’s defence. “Now, now, lad, let’s not get into this discussion before things have really settled down. After all, there is your own marriage to discuss.” Jon gulped and Myrcella stuck her tongue out at him. Father laughed. Then he straightened up and asked. “But truthfully, how is Ned’s boy?”

Jon smiled. “He’s a good lad, father, true, honest, and honourable. He looks more like his mother I think than he does his father, which can only be a good thing.” Father grunted.

“I don’t give a shit what the boy looks like, lad, I want to know whether he is a good man.” Father replied.

“Might I remind you both that this is a welcome home feast, for you, Jon, not to discuss a potential marriage for your sister.” Mother said sharply.

Jon bowed his head. “Sorry, Mama.”

“Sorry my love.” Father said kissing mother’s cheek.

Dessert was served and from that point on, Jon spent more time eating than he did talking, when the music started, he led Mother out to the floor to dance, smiling as he did so. “I’m glad to be home.” He said then.

“We are glad to have you home, sweetling.” Mother replied. “How was Oldstones, truly?”

Jon smiled. “It was good, Mother. My friends there were nice, and we managed to learn a lot. And I got a fair estimation of some of the people who are now at court as well.”

His mother raised an eyebrow. “And what might those estimations be?”

Jon nodded toward where Robert Arryn was sat, discussing something with his beady eyed mother. “Robert Arryn is all charm and pomp, but get him into an actual fight and his wits will abandon him. He is more a politician than a fighter, but he will have to command an army in whatever war comes next.” He turned with his mother in the routine that the dance prescribed. And nodded toward where cousin Lancel sat. “Lancel is a coward, a man who will follow his betters, not out of loyalty, but because if he does not then he will suffer a fate worse than death. He is afraid of being shamed.”

Mother smiled. “Impressive, and what do you plan on doing with this information?”

Jon stopped as the music slowed. “Making use of it to ensure that the family’s interest and the kingdom’s interest is looked out for.”

Mother patted his cheek. “Good.” They changed partners then as Mother danced with uncle Jaime, and Jon danced with some Lannister cousin. The evening went like that for some time, before eventually, the King announced that he was retiring and festivities ended for the night. Jon made his way back to his rooms, Uncle Jaime trailing him as a white knight should.  Jon saw someone kissing some serving girl or the other and laughed, it was good to be home.

* * *

 

**Lord Jon Arryn, Hand of the King**

As usual the festivities had gone on until late in the night. Jon was not as young as he had once been, indeed as he approached his seventieth nameday, he found that he enjoyed these sorts of things less and less. Yet still he attended them, for he was Hand of the King and to not attend something that the King had declared all were to attend would have been treason. To not attend the return of the Crown Prince, would have been madness. Jon might not care much for the King’s children, but he knew when to make a good impression still.

He sat down in his chair, in the Tower of the Hand and sighed with relief. His page poured him some wine and he took the cup and drank. “Where is my wife?” He asked.

“She has retired for the night, as has Master Robert.” Ser Garland Stone, his bastard nephew said.

“Very well. And Lord Baelish?” Jon asked.

“He is coming as you asked.” Stone replied. Just as the man said that, the door opened and Baelish entered. The young man was small, with brownish hair that was turning grey, he had beady eyes, and a little goatee that made him look ridiculous. Jon knew that most of the people in King’s Landing and at court ignored Baelish because of his low birth, but Jon knew just how dangerous the man was, which was why he had mentored him and trained him. Baelish bowed and took the seat offered him.

Jon looked at Stone and said. “Guard the outside, make sure no one else enters or leaves.” The man bowed and then straightened to do as he was asked. Jon then turned to Baelish and gave him a cup of wine, once the man had taken the cup he asked. “What did you make of tonight’s festivities?”

Petyr Baelish had started as the grandson of a sellsword, who had saved the life of Lord Hoster during the War of the Ninepenny Kings. Jon had seen the use of such a man and given him some lands on the Fingers, with permission of King Jaehaerys of course. That sellsword’s son had served as Jon’s steward for many years, and Jon had ensured that the boy had grown up in Riverrun, counting on the boy’s ambition and his affinity for redheads to get him to where Jon had wanted him to be. And now here they were. Baelish did not know this, and so he replied honestly with Jon, where he would lie to others. “I believe the King has made his statement of intent. The celebrations were much grander than anything that he has thrown for any of his other children, apart from perhaps Princess Myrcella, and much grander than anything he has thrown for any of his brothers.” Baelish took a sip of wine then continued. “I believe that he will try and get Harrenhal for Prince Jon, and ensure that the Riverlords swear fealty to him, and not Lord Edmure.”

“That would risk alienating the Tullys, and through them the Starks and potentially myself as well. Robert is not as great a fool as that. Lord Edmure might not be as capable as his father was, but he has powerful allies. Harrenhal might fall to the crown, in that I do not disagree with you, but I do not think there will be any changing of oaths there.” Jon responded.

Baelish conceded the point with a nod of his head. “The reunion between the Queen and Ser Jaime was not as good as Ser Jaime had expected. Several of my sources reported that as they danced they argued, and there was even mention of the brothel that Ser Jaime visits. Or rather the brothel he had visited.”

“Have you found out who he visited there?” Jon asked, that had been something that had been bothering him for nearly ten years now, and he knew that if the Kingslayer had sired an illegitimate son, then he could foist that son on Tywin and get Robert to legitimise the boy. It would be quite amusing.

“Not yet, unfortunately, my lord. But I do know that Ser Jaime got quite uncomfortable when the Queen mentioned that brothel.” Baelish responded.

“Of course he did, the man still thinks that being part of the Kingsguard means you have honour. He has not realised that apart from Ser Barristan and Ser Arys the rest of his sister’s protection are fools who are bought and paid for. Of course, there will be those who believes the Lannisters have them, but they do not remember who pays them of course.” Jon said. Baelish paid the Kingsguard their upkeep, but Jon was the one who controlled what happened to the numerous children and mistresses that Robert’s Kingsguard had. In a way, he felt sorry for Ser Barristan, the last member of a legendary institution brought low. Then he remembered what had been done to Daenaera and he pushed down such thoughts. “Speaking of money, what word has there been from Braavos?”

 Here Baelish smiled. “The Sealord is facing death; the Iron Bank has agreed to support our preferred candidate. A man who claims that the centralisation of power in Westeros is a direct threat to Braavosi sovereignty and as such is garnering as much support as he can for a proposed armada to invade. Of course, this man is posturing, but I’ve struck several deals with shipping companies to increase their presence within the straits, so that the spider’s little birds pick up on that.”

Jon nodded approvingly. “Good, if Robert is focused on the Braavosi and the thought of getting the foreign war he so desperately wants, he will not be able to focus on the removal of the processes he has worked so hard for.”

“It’s not that I disagree with you, my lord, but I must ask, what happens if Robert Baratheon finds out we are doing this?” Baelish asked.

Jon sighed. “Leave that to me.” He knew his foster son, he knew the man’s strengths and weaknesses, he’d created them after all, he could easily keep the wool over his eyes.

 


	2. Two Robbs

****

**King Robert I Baratheon**

Summer was baking hot in King’s Landing, and though the Blackwater was there, it never brought the cool breezes that one could expect at Storm’s End, instead, you got the putrid smell of thousands upon thousands of bodies crammed together and the shit and the disease that went with it. He’d ordered the city and the drains and sewers cleaned regularly, but still there was a smell, he was beginning to think that maybe he would need to order a burning down of the hamlets that sprung up in Flea Bottom. He grimaced at that thought, sometimes the necessary things were unpleasant. He cleared his throat and looked around the room, he smiled at his son, Jon was dressed in blue, his coronet atop his head, he looked every inch a Prince.

“Baelish, you’ve been keeping an eye on the situation in Braavos, tell me what have those merchants decided?” Robert demanded, he knew from Jon Arryn that Baelish was trying to get someone elected who would be hostile to the reforms he’d worked his arse off for. Consequently, what Baelish told him would decide the little worm’s fate.

“Taario Naehris, the merchant of the war faction is currently facing down opposition from Lothar Morgos, the leader of the merchant and peace faction. Naehris continues to argue that the reforms being instituted here in Westeros pose a great threat to Braavos, and he wishes to increase the size of the Braavosi fleet to ensure that it is capable of handling the Royal Fleet.” Baelish responded, Robert nodded that corresponded with what Jon had told him and what his own spies had reported. “Of course with the withdrawal of several houses accounts from the Iron Bank, Naehris is getting support from prominent members within the Iron Bank itself, and as such seems likely to win.” Robert nodded again and thought to himself, _no doubt thanks to you, bringing your own ill-gotten gold to the table._ Robert knew Baelish had been skimming some of the money from the top of his elected dues from customs for years, he’d said and done nothing because he was waiting for Baelish to take a big amount before nailing him. “Morgos is currently facing a stiff climb to garner support in the Eastern and Southern parts of the city, which have always faced more dangers from the Dothraki. As such, he is looking like he might lose.”

Robert knew that that was what Baelish wanted, and he knew to some extent Jon wanted that as well, more to convince Baelish and whoever else was out there that he was on their side, but Robert had to think of the kingdom as a whole. His reforms needed Braavos to be amenable to the new terms he sought to negotiate. Therefore, he said. “I want you to get in  contact with the Forels, the Antari and the Beldoch, and tell them that they are to get their purses out to bribe and cajole any and all who would support Naehris. If that man gets elected Sealord the sea will run red with the blood of both Westerosi and Braavosi and we can ill afford that.” Baelish nodded and made a note of that. Robert then turned to Jon and asked. “What word from the heartlands, how are things within the Riverlands, is the yield strong?” He knew that perhaps he should ask Baelish about this, after all as Master of Coin it was the man’s responsibility to take note of the crop yield, but since an incident in 294, Robert had not been willing to trust the man with that and so had moved the duties to Jon Arryn.

His mentor was old, but he was not foolish, he had just celebrated his seventieth nameday and was as sharp as ever. “Lord Edmure has sent over the yields for this season, and they have produced some four hundred thousand dragons worth of product, enough to feed the entire kingdom for three to four years. All I need is your agreement to begin the shipment.”

“You have it.” Robert replied. A few years after putting down a rebellion in the Riverlands that had cost Hoster Tully his life, Robert had decided that instead of leaving the production of food to the regions- there were no more kingdoms, just one, and he ruled it- he would ensure that there was a crown appointed food collector, and as such the Riverlands and the Reach being the most fertile areas were responsible with producing the bulk of the food in exchange for beneficial trade deals with the free cities. It had been a good deal, and so far the yields had always made a profit. Jon Arryn made a note of his approval.

“There is also the matter of the Faith, the current High Septon grows old and weary and it seems likely that he will be expiring before the next feast of the Father.” Varys said. “The Most Devout have been meeting regularly in the Room of Silver to discuss who amongst them they would nominate to succeed.”

Robert listened intently, since the time of Baelor the Beloved, the Faith had been beholden to the crown, nothing more than a puppet, that was still the case, but recently there had been murmurings from within Baelor’s Sept that things were changing that the faithful were angry with corruption within the church. Robert knew things needed to be reformed but in a manner, that he approved of. “Who have they decided upon, if anyone?” The thing with religious people was that they always talked and talked and never decided on anything.

The Spider looked down at his notes and said. “A man named Peregrine, a man from the Riverlands who has strong ties to Bracken and Mallister as well as Crakehall he is someone who wishes to keep things the same as they have always been. However, there is another, a woman, named Dolorous, she speaks of reforming and separating things into one or two components.”

“That will be something, a woman as High Septon, Baelor would shit himself.” Renly japed.

Stannis snorted, but said nothing, his brother was oddly quiet. Varys however replied. “It might be more likely than you think, she has gotten support from three of the Most Devout, the others are swiftly changing to her point of view.”

Robert considered this, having a woman as High Septon would be an interesting thing to see, but whether it would happen or not, he did not know. “I wish to meet with both of them, Jon you shall arrange this. Varys keep an ear to whatever is discussed within the Silver Room. Dismissed.” With that the members of the council got up, bowed and left, leaving Robert alone with his son. He looked at Jon and asked him. “So, what did you make of all of that?”

His son took off his coronet and said. “I think that Baelish is lying about what’s happening in Braavos, either that or he’s over simplifying it.”

Robert smiled and asked. “Why do you think that?”

“Baelish has contacts throughout Braavos, indeed, I know from Maester Gormon and from reading through the ledgers that he practically owns most of the Braavosi elite, if he wanted to swing the election of the Sealord in our favour he would have done so already. That he hasn’t suggests he has some other motive.” Jon said.

Robert nodded. “Precisely, which is why Baelish must remain on the council, we must know what he is planning and with who, before we can act and remove him and take what he owes us.”

His son nodded, then asked. “Do you think there will be a female High Septon?”

Robert laughed. “I do not know, but that will make discussions of doctrine very interesting. Have you read the Seven Pointed Star?” His son laughed as well, and they walked out of the council chamber together.

* * *

 

**Robb Stark**

It was great to be back home, walking amongst the walls and halls of Winterfell, playing games with his brothers and sister again, and getting reacquainted with them. He’d not really thought about how much he’d missed his siblings when he’d been at Oldstones, there’d been far too much to do, to justify that, but now he was home, he was glad he was. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate everything that he’d learned at Oldstones, it was just that, being back here, it felt right. And of course he could write to Myrcella without being pestered by his friends for everything. That was a benefit.

Greywind snuggled closer to him, he and Bran had found the direwolves when they’d gone with father to deal with a deserter from the Night’s Watch, the man had been ranting and raving about something that seemed improbable. White Walkers, with their skin blue as anything and their breath as cold as ice. Robb didn’t believe the man had found them, but there was something in the way he’d said it that made Robb stop and think. And of course they’d found the mother and the father direwolves there protecting their cubs, or at least both had died trying to, before being killed with a shard of ice. That had been chilling.

His father sighed. “Word has come back from Benjen, it seems what that deserter said has some merit. There has been an increasing movement of wildlings north of the wall, it seems they are either congregating somewhere or they have a plan to achieve something. Benjen reports that Lord Commander Mormont is planning on going on a ranging to see just what is happening. And of course it seems there have been sightings of more direwolves and not just direwolves but other great beasts.”

Robb straightened then, such sightings were incredibly rare, and if the wildlings were gathering in large numbers that could only mean one thing. “Do you think the wildlings are preparing to march south of the wall?” He asked, the last time the wildlings had attempted such a thing had been during the time of his great-great-grandfather Willam Stark, where they’d marshalled under the command of Raymun Redbeard, they’d be defeated at Long Lake, but not before taking Willam’s life. If he were being honest, the thought of fighting wildlings both thrilled and terrified him. He wasn’t too sure if he wanted them to come south.

His father sighed. “I do not know, son. I do know that Mance Rayder has declared himself King Beyond the Wall, and that the last time a wildling was foolish to do something like that, they crossed the wall.”

Mother spoke then, she looked concerned. “Does this mean then that you shall have to ride north for the wall also, Ned?”

Robb watched as his father took his mother’s hand. “I am not sure what will need to be right now. I will wait for more word from Benjen and then make my decision. I cannot just march north to the wall, because of something that might have happened beyond it. I need to wait for word from the Lord Commander.” Robb saw his mother visibly relax at that, her shoulders loosening.

Maester Luwin spoke then. “There has been word from Harlaw, my lord as well, from Lord Rodrik.” Luwin handed his father the letter, and Robb watched as his father’s eyebrows rose the more he read the letter, eventually, his father stopped and handed the letter to Robb.

“Read this lad, and tell me what you think of it.” Father said.

Robb  did as he was bid and started reading the letter.

_Lord Stark,_

_I write to inform you that there is a growing sign of terrible times ahead. The traders I have sent out on missions have told me that there is a great fleet marshalling near the Gulf of Grief, they fly black and gold banners, with skulls and cross bones on them. Their crews, I am told are made up of mutes, all of whom stare at the passers by with nothing more than an empty stare. We both know who prefers his crews to be mute. Should he be returning, I fear for the safety of my nephew and niece._

Robb put down the letter and stared at his father. “Does this mean Euron Greyjoy is returning?”

“Not returning, but he is certainly making plans to do something, and that means we shall need to be alert. He will come for Theon and for Asha Greyjoy as well, which means we shall need to increase their guard.” Father said.

Robb snorted. “Greyjoy won’t like that, he already feels as though he is a prisoner. He’s got a right little band of people around him, mainly women of the night and others who listen to his every word.” Robb explained, his mother raised an eyebrow and he blushed. “I happened to be visiting a tavern with Jory and heard him giving some sort of speech to the people around him. He looked as if he were deep in his cups and wanted some attention.”

Father looked saddened by this. “He is our ward, Robb, but he is also a young man who was denied the company of people his own age for a long time. He is not sure what his place is now that you are back.” Robb raised an eyebrow but said nothing on that, instead he said.

“I heard him mentioning that he would marry Sansa when he went back to the Iron Islands, that she would make a fine lady of the isles.” Robb had had to hold himself back from getting up and throttling Greyjoy there and then for saying something so absurd.

His father sighed. “I shall speak with him.”

Mother spoke then. “Meanwhile, make sure to stay clear of his influence, Robb, you do not want the people getting the wrong idea.”

Robb nodded. “I don’t have any inclination of working with him, or befriending him.” The thought of being friends with a squid was repulsive to him.

 


	3. Court

**Princess Myrcella Baratheon**

Myrcella twisted a strand of her hair around her finger, and looked at her brother. It felt strange having her older brother back, he’d been gone for six years, and he’d changed. He was taller, his shoulders were broader, and he looked more confident. Myrcella knew she’d changed as well, she was more outspoken, prettier, and a lot sharper than she’d been at the age of seven. Jon looked at her and smiled, she smiled back, and then she asked. “What’s Robb actually like?” She fought back a blush, knowing that if she did blush, she’d never hear the end of it.

She expected her brother to tease her for asking, instead he simply said. “He’s a good lad, smart, caring, funny, kind. He’s got a good head on his shoulders. You’ll like him, he’s not like some of these fools around court, especially not like Ser Aurane Velaryon.”

Myrcella laughed, Aurane Velaryon the firstborn son of Lord Monford Velaryon, was a proud man, and someone who was quite beautiful, inhumanely beautiful, and someone who was aware of that. He’d petitioned for her hand before. “I don’t think there’s anyone quite like Aurane.”

Jon grimaced. “That man is nothing but trouble, I don’t know why Father keeps him at court.” It was clear from the way Jon held himself as he spoke of the other man, that he didn’t like him. Myrcella grinned.

“I think it’s to do with the fact that Father wants to remind Lord Monford of what he has over him, after all, there is the whole issue of Velaryon controlling some thirty of the two hundred ships that sit in the Royal Fleet.” Myrcella said.

Jon nodded, then turned the conversation back to their original talking point. “But yes, Robb’s good, he’s got a lot of things he likes talking about. As I’m sure you’re aware from your letters.” Myrcella blushed then, but thankfully unlike Tommen, Jon did not ask what she wrote about in her letters to Robb.

Instead, she asked. “What are you making of court, since your return?” She imagined that after being with dozens of boys at Oldstones, where he’d rough housed and learned how to be a man, being amongst young women, but also other men again, must have been quite strange.

Her brother shrugged, as was his way, it was quite a similar mannerism to Father’s. “It is what it is. The people here still fawn and simper over some things, and they still demand attention for things they have no right demanding. It’s just that I am far more aware of it now. Especially, with the situation with our Lannister cousins. Did you know Cerenna tried to proposition me earlier?”

Myrcella burst out laughing then. “That doesn’t surprise me. Cerenna sees herself as another Cersei Lannister, she wants to be Queen, and I think her brother Daven and Uncle Stafford are encouraging her in such a pursuit. Whether grandfather knows about this I don’t know, but I know Mother doesn’t approve.”

Jon grimaced. “I really don’t like her. She came on far too strong, and it was only because Uncle Jaime was there that I managed to get away from her.”

Myrcella wanted to laugh and tease her brother about that, but she knew Cerenna and she suspected that the methods their cousin had used had not been appropriate to someone of their station. “Well, now you’ve said no, she’s either going to try again or send in Myrielle.”

They both groaned then. “Myrielle? Really? She’s nice and all, but she prefers Tommen, everyone knows this. Why are they so desperate to have one of themselves as Queen? Hells, I’m pretty sure that if he were a woman, Daven would be looking to get into my bed.” They both laughed then. “And of course there are others, Jeyne Westerling for one, and her sister, they’re both nice but too quiet. Uncle Renly’s been pushing for me to consider Margaery Tyrell.” Here Jon paused and looked at her. “You’ve met her, what’s she like?”

Margaery had been one of her ladies in waiting for a time, until something had happened, some argument between Father and Lord Mace, and Margaery had been summoned back to Highgarden, that had been a year ago. They still kept in contact through letters, though those weren’t as often as perhaps they should have been. “She’s nice, she’s got a quick brain and she knows more about how things run than perhaps anyone at court, other than myself and Mother. But I’m not sure. Her father would try to use her to influence you, and of course Uncle Renly is head over heels for Loras.”

“Loras Tyrell is an idiot. He only got his knighthood because Uncle Renly threatened to go on strike.” Jon responded.

Myrcella laughed. “What’s he done to annoy you? The way he’s been acting, you’d think he thought the sun shone out of your arse.”

Jon grinned. “It does.” He then stuck a finger up at her and said. “It’s not just that, it’s his whole bearing. As if he considers himself above us all just because he has Uncle Renly wrapped around his finger. Sometimes I feel like asking him to spar with me. But then I remember that he’d not go at it completely as he’d not want to get in trouble for trying to fight me.”

“Do you think he’d beat you?” Myrcella teased, they both knew that nobody could beat Jon, with a sword or a hammer in hand he was nearly unstoppable.

Jon laughed. “Gods no. He’s all flash and little actual skill. He’s more of a flash pony, though he’d make a good Kingsguard, no doubt when Ser Barristan dies, that’s what will be suggested. Put a ponce in the Kingsguard and degrade it further.” In the corner, they both heard Uncle Jaime snort, but neither said anything about that.

Myrcella took her brother’s hand and said. “Well I’m sure there will be an announcement of one of our betrothals soon enough.”

“Aye, hopefully to decent people.” Jon replied, they looked at one another and both burst out laughing. It was good to have her brother home.

* * *

 

**Archmaester Marwyn**

Marwyn strolled through the streets of King’s Landing, like any big city, there were elements that were pleasant, there was a huge library on the Street of Baelor, and there were countless wine sinks where one could go to enjoy a few hearty beverages. There was of course a downside to all of this, mainly the stink, shit covered the streets of some areas, and more than once returning from a visit to an alehouse, Marwyn had had to knock a few people out on his way back to his rooms in the Tower of Books, where the Citadel was now housed. Or at least partially housed since King Robert had demanded they move from the Citadel, some years ago. Some of his fellow Archmaesters had grumbled at having to move, but he’d loved it. Oldtown was great and all but it was quite stuffy, and truth be told he didn’t like being watched by the Hightowers.

He pushed open the door to the establishment, walked passed the women who were playing with themselves, and through another set of doors, then he sat down. The man he wanted to see came through another set of doors and nodded to him. “Close the doors.” The man told his guards. The girls disappeared as well, so that it was just the two of them. “What can I do for you?” the man asked.

Marwyn smiled. “You can relax, Petyr, I killed the three rats that the Spider sent after me. They won’t be haunting your establishment anymore.” Petyr Baelish, master of coin, and his prodigy relaxed quite considerably. The man took a seat, and Marwyn spoke once more. “You have done as I asked in regards to Braavos?”

Baelish nodded. “I have, I have sent word to our supporters there and requested that they begin shipping off the documents you requested as soon as possible. Neither Arryn or the King know about this, and I have endeavoured to make use of the men you recommended.”

Marwyn smiled. “Good. It is important that those documents come here before there is another conclave.” Especially as his own sources in Essos reported that there were red priests departing from Asshai for one reason or another.

“Do you think then that the maesters of the conclave will attempt to reverse the King’s ordinance, and try to return to Oldtown?” Baelish asked.

Marwyn considered the question, Baelish was an intelligent young man, and they’d known each other since Baelish had been thrown out of Riverrun as an even younger man nearly twenty years ago, Marwyn had taken him under his wing and decided to teach him something of life. “I believe the conclave will do what they have always done in circumstances such as these. They will find a candidate who benefits them in the King’s council and they will fund him and champion him and ensure that he gets what they want done. When that is done, they will kill him. Initially, during the reign of King Aegon the Fortunate, that was Pycelle, but then Pycelle began his love affair with Tywin Lannister. He was protected because he was useful to certain factions of the conclave, but when he openly supported the King’s reforms, his target grew bigger.”

Baelish nodded, Marwyn knew his prodigy knew all of this already, but from time to time it was good to test him, to see what he remembered, and what he claimed to remember. “And of course should Pycelle die, then they will choose Gormon Tyrell as the man to champion their reforms, which would explain why Lord Renly has been pushing for a marriage between his nephew the crown prince and Margaery Tyrell.”

“Indeed, and then of course, there is the simple reason that the Tyrells want the conclave back where they can control them. The Hightowers have always done as the Head of Highgarden has asked of them, they did it with the Gardeners, and then they started with the Tyrells.” Marwyn said simply. He could see that Baelish was growing impatient though. If there was one area in which Baelish, so often calm, collected and calculating could be faulted in, it was this, when he could sense that they were getting to the heart of the matter, he would never be able to hold still. “Of course, you will get the chance to see whether or not your theory regarding Lysa Arryn holds true. Her husband is venturing toward the Conclave in three days’ time, he has sent word to me to prepare for it.”

Jon Arryn was someone Marwyn had known for most of his adult life, and he was a proud man, someone who did not like thinking that he had left anything to chance. That was why Marwyn always felt it surprising that he had abandoned the Targaryens, surely he knew the words that had been said between his own father and his cousin, the woman he so clearly loved still, a promise that had been made so long ago, that had burdened the father as it now did the son. Baelish did not know any of this of course, which was why Marwyn was not surprised when he asked. “Do you not think he will come to learn of what we are planning here? How could he not, when he has his spies everywhere?”

Marwyn patted Baelish’s hand and said. “Jon Arryn like all nobles sees only what he wishes to see. If he thinks that there is some fault in the lines, then he will go there. If he does not think there is a fault, he will not bother venturing there. It is the nature of these men. They are not inquisitive by nature.” Marwyn took a breath then said. “You will need to speed up our plans though, for the Vulture King is returning and we must have everything we need by then.”

Baelish did not blink he merely nodded. “Of course, I shall have it done as soon as I can.”

Marwyn nodded, stood, kissed the boy’s cheeks then walked out of the brothel, he walked through the streets, and made his way back to the Tower of Books, where the messenger was waiting for him. He looked at the messenger and said. “Tell him, that the boy is doing as asked, he will have his evidence.” The messenger nodded and disappeared.

 


	4. Scheme Mother Fucker

****

**King Viserys III Targaryen**

Viserys stared at the savages arrayed before him, they had laughed at him, belittled him and insulted him. Not for the first time he wondered why the hell he had agreed to marry off his sister, the only other member of the Blood of the Dragon alive, to these savages. Then he remembered why, his throne, his birth right, the very thing he’d been waiting for his entire life. But of course, that had been a year ago, Daenerys was not with child, and the savage who was her husband did not seem as if he would do anything. Viserys had had enough, he demanded recognition and so he’d gone for his sister, he was never going to harm her though, he was simply going to scare her, and as it had been planned it worked. The beast came for him, knocked him down. But instead of killing him, Viserys had goaded him into a challenge.

The savage would not fight him, himself, instead one of his bloodriders would fight him. Viserys hid a grin. He had hoped for that, whilst he had no doubt that the bloodriders were good fighters, they were not as good as him. After all, he had spent time fighting in the Disputed Lands when his sister had lived with the Magister and with the Sand Snakes, he’d done his bit to earn a reputation and now it would pay off. These fools all saw him as some sort of madman, he knew that, he had played that up. Perhaps he was mad, but what did it matter, he would achieve what needed to be achieved and he would ensure that it was done the right way. The savages grunted around him, and one of the members of the Khal’s bloodriders appeared before him.

Viserys gripped his sword, he’d been given his by Mopatis, it was the sword that belonged to his ancestor, Queen Visenya, he would shed savage blood and that of the usurper as well when the time came. They circled one another, Viserys and the bloodrider, not wanting to make the first move, Viserys hung back, as he had been taught by the Red Snake, he waited and waited, then as he had suspected the savage lunged. Viserys blocked the blow, hearing the reassuring sound of metal on metal, the savage pushed into him, using his weight to try and upset the balance. Viserys refused to budge. He remained where he was, sword locked against the arakh, then he leaned forward and head butted the savage, that earned a grunt from the savage and a whisper of something from the other savages.

The savage backed away, reeling from what had hit him. Viserys waited, he had watched the Dothraki, had seen how they handled their foes, he knew they would not play the long game. He trailed the sand, the dust cooling around his feet. He glanced to the side, Daenerys was watching with something akin to horror on her face. Her brute of a husband was watching indifferently. The savage came, roaring as he did so, Viserys turned, blocked his swing, parried another blow, then thrust his sword forward, nicking the man’s skin, blood pooled down to the ground. It was a start, Viserys knew that he would need to kill this savage for the other savages to respect him. He also knew that if he remained as he were, they would likely kill him, for their belief that he had lied to them. He needed to play up the role of idiot. He moved forward then, going against his instincts, swung and swung, the Dothraki savage got the advantage, and knocked Viserys aside, knocked him to the ground and drew blood.

Viserys laughed internally as he saw the Dothraki howl with laughter. They were so foolish, the savage had backed away to gloat, to no doubt sample one of the naked women who were salivating at the thought of seeing him die. Viserys got up, allowed himself to be knocked down once, twice, then a third time. He was bleeding, but so was the savage, he’d done his bit, he’d not gone down quite as easily as they might have thought. He was a Targaryen after all, and he would not be knocked down or defeated by a savage cur. Once he was satisfied that he had shed enough blood, he stopped fooling around and increased the tempo of his attacks.

The thing about the Dothraki, was that they were great fighters on horseback, but they had no idea how to fight on foot. The savage’s movements were slow, and he was clearly struggling with the wounds he’d been dealt. Viserys found it easy enough to slip passed his weak swings, to cut and slice, to instruct wounds onto his skin. The savage seemed increasingly despondent, his long braid got in the way as well, and Viserys used that to his advantage. He cut and chopped, and hacked his way through the savage. He celebrated each and every time he drew blood, and when he backed away, the savage was a bleeding wreck. Viserys looked at his sister, she seemed happy, a slight smile playing at her lips, and then there was her husband, who remained expressionless, as if he were observing a play.

The savage came at him and Viserys knew he had to end this. The man was swinging his arakh as if it were a weight, Viserys cut his hand off, with three clean swings. The savage growled and threw himself at Viserys. Dark Sister clattered to the ground near them, as they wrestled. The savage threw punches, and Viserys took a few, before he got tired, he had been punched too many times before. He threw the savage off, grabbed Dark Sister and cut off the savage’s other hand, before grabbing him by his hair and dragging him before the Khal. The Khal watched expressionless, as Viserys slit the bloodrider’s throat, and dropped him. Another savage came and Viserys killed him as well, after that second one, the Khal got up and said in broken Westerosi. “King you shall be.” Viserys nodded and turned, his sword dripping blood on the sand.

* * *

 

**Queen Cersei Baratheon**

Cersei enjoyed the breeze as it flowed through the air, she and her husband were out on the balcony of the Red Keep, watching the sun, and the citizens of their capital. It had been fifteen years since she had married her husband, and in that time she had grown to truly care for him, and his mission. She had found a greater purpose than she ever would have as Rhaegar Targaryen’s wife, and though her father and she had not spoken in years, she felt happier now, than she had done when he had been writing to her almost every day. Their children were growing up as well, Jon was tall, strong, handsome and smart, just like his father, Myrcella was beautiful and cunning, and Tommen was kind and sweet, as was Joanna. As for Joffrey, well that was one child she had no idea how to handle. Perhaps she should send him off to the Faith.

Her husband interrupted her thoughts, he placed a hand on her shoulder and said. “Myrcella asked me a question today, and I had no idea how to answer it.”

Cersei laughed. “Isn’t that a common occurrence for you, with our daughters?” It seemed that the great Robert Baratheon, he who had had affairs with many women when they were young, he who had defeated all who had opposed him on the battlefield and in the council chamber, could not give his daughters a straight answer when it came to matters of the heart.

Robert laughed. “I’m being serious here. She asked me about her betrothal and the Stark boy.” Cersei straightened then, she knew her daughter had been writing to the heir to Winterfell for about a year and a half now, but she did not know what they wrote to one another about. “She wanted to know whether she was going to fulfil the pact that I made with Rickard Stark.”

Cersei sighed. “And what did you say?” She was not sure how she felt about this idea of betrothing their daughter to the Stark boy. The Starks had never been the best suited to southern politics, and of course the north was a place filled with savages at the best of times.

“I told her that she is currently too young to be considering such things. And that when the time came for it to be decided, I would inform her in advance. She seemed happy with that answer at least. So long as it isn’t Lancel Lannister, I think she doesn’t care.” Robert replied.

Cersei laughed. “Of course, though I think Lancel might try and go for a position in the Faith, you know, since uncle Kevan has spent more of his time focusing on Willem and Martyn.”

“Does your uncle truly not believe that Lancel would do well as Lord of Castamere once he himself is gone?” Robert asked.

Cersei shrugged. “I do not think it is Kevan making the decisions here, but my father. Father seems to believe that Lancel has spent too much time outside of the Westerlands, outside of the Rock and therefore will not follow the same agenda that he would want a lord of such a powerful estate to.”

“So, essentially, Tywin does not think that he will be able to control Lancel and therefore does not want him sitting in Castamere, even though it is his right, and the fact that I can decide to give Lancel the castle now if I wanted to.” Robert responded.

“Essentially, yes. My father it seems has grown ever more suspicious of what it is that we are trying to achieve, his letters to Jaime have grown ever more terse, he continually warns Jaime that what we are doing is threatening his plans.” Cersei said, some of the indignation she felt creeping in. How dare her father write to her brother about these things, things she had invited him to be a part of but for some reason, his pride had prevented him from agreeing.

Robert took her hand. “I know that your father’s words hurt, Cersei, but you cannot let him get inside your head. You know that is what he does, he tries to niggle in, but he must remember that his time in the sun has ended. Indeed, I am of half a mind to finally answer the question your brother put to me a few years ago.”

Cersei turned and looked at him. “You’re not going to give Tyrion the Rock are you?” the mere thought of her mother’s killer sitting in the Rock was too much for her.

“Oh heavens no, I know from Crakehall and Banefort and others that they’d never follow a dwarf. No, I’m tempted to simply name Tommen as Lord of the Rock and give him all the feudal dues that that entitles him to. I will defeat your father in a war if it comes to it. Of course, that is only if you wish it.” Robert responded.

“No, not yet, we might need Father.” Cersei replied, thinking of the struggles in Braavos and the election of the Sealord.

Her husband nodded in agreement then said. “I think that we will need to announce who our son is to marry soon enough. Renly has been pestering me about it for weeks, as surprisingly has Stannis. I think Stannis wants Sansa Stark as Jon’s betrothed, and whilst that would bring Ned closer to the fold, it would be a waste of a marriage, especially if Myrcella heads north. The Tyrells would be good, and would keep the Florents in line, but then there is Arianne Martell and the dowry she would bring.”

Cersei considered the options presented, she did not like the thought of her daughter going all the way to Winterfell, nor did she like the thought of a Tyrell being Queen, she had met Margaery Tyrell, the girl was far too clever for her own good. And of course, Robert was not on speaking terms with Mace Tyrell either. “I think bringing the Stark girl south makes the most sense, and it ensures Stark will have to owe you for the rest of his time here. And the dowry could be considerable also.”

Robert was thinking this over, she could see that in the way his mouth was parted. Eventually he sighed. “I suppose you are right, I shall write to Ned and see what he has to say.”

 


	5. A Bear There Was

**Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch Jeor Mormont**

Jeor barked out orders, the winds where whipping at them, and it was bloody cold, this was worse than anything he’d ever taken part in under Rickard Stark. The chill had come with them, but it had increased as if out of nowhere. Jeor suspected that whatever they were about to face would be worse than the wildlings they’d come to hunt. “You there, move the barricades, prepare the archers.” Jeor shouted, whether the command had been carried out he did not know. He heard the horn, one blast, a second blast, then shit. “A third. It must be a joke.” No one had seen the white walkers since their supposed defeat millennia upon millennia ago. And now, now it seemed they were here.

Atop his horse, Jeor barked a command. “You, Tarly, send the ravens out.” The fat pig of a boy mumbled and got to work on the ravens. Jeor’s own raven was cawing and coughing words that made no sense. “Prepare.” Jeor roared, as the horn echoed. The creak, and groaning of his men showed how tired they were. They’d been marching for three weeks without a break, and now here they were. On the fist, without a chance in hell. The first body appeared, staring lifelessly at them, it ambled forward. An arrow was released, the body fell and got back up. The thing staggered toward them. “Fire, put some fucking fire!” Jeor roared. The next arrow contained fire, but missed. The beast kept going. The third arrow hit it and knocked it down. It screamed as it burned. But more bodies came.

Jeor barked orders, his horse had started moving wildly, to the point where he’d had to dismount. He slit the beast’s throat, and then barked out more orders. The beasts came crawling through the fire toward them. Jeor felt his breath freeze. What the fuck were those things coming toward them? The bodies were burning brightly, and they weren’t moving, that much was true, but what was this other thing. The beings with cold dead eyes and the white, white skin. Jeor stood frozen, Longclaw in his hand. The monsters killed his men, and Jeor saw them rise as the dead things. His men  stood there staring unsure of what the hell to do. Eventually, he stopped staring and roared. “Retreat.” Someone got him a horse, and he did nothing more than touch the horse before it bolted through the drifts and the snow.

As he rode, he heard the screams of his men, he felt shame then. He had fought the Ironborn, he’d killed his first man when he was eight namedays old, he’d killed men during the wars Rickard Stark had waged against rebellious northern lords and he’d killed men during the rebellion. Here he was fleeing from bodies, dead bodies, and he’d left his own gods damned men to die. His shame did not know any limits. He kept going, he didn’t stop and turn. Tarly had appeared at his side, or just behind him at one point. “Did you send the ravens?” He demanded, they needed aid. He had a feeling that the monsters would be upon them again.

Tarly was fat, with a beard that made him look even more fat, the boy hadn’t sworn his vows yet, a letter from the King had prevented that, but he’d come along. The boy stammered. “I did, my lord.”

Jeor nodded and kept quiet after that, deciding to focus on keeping his horse calm. They trudged through the drifts and the snow, and he started to think that coming north had been a waste of time. They’d not learned anything. They knew little other than the villages near the wall were abandoned, and that there were dead things rising. Perhaps that was why Mance Rayder and the Wildlings were moving, but they were moving northwards, surely that would be the stupid thing to do? Jeor sighed, he was too old for this nonsense, but then again, there was no one else who could have led this mission. Benjen Stark needed to remain at the Wall to oversee things, Mallister was not a leader, and Thorne was a pain in the arse. And so he kept going, knowing that perhaps when they got to Castle Black he could ask Maester Aemon about it, the old man knew a lot of things.

Men kept disappearing, he’d heard is as they rode, men disappearing, screaming, crying out for their mothers. Their numbers continually lessened, until the thousands they’d gone out with were reduced to hundreds and then tens of dozens. They’d burned men, said the words and then allowed themselves to consider losing their humanity to the needs of the body. That the men hadn’t turned on one another yet and sought to kill each other, he thought was perhaps an inclination of just how terrified they all were. Once or twice, men tried to flee, and Jeor had to hunt them down himself and kill them. He couldn’t let there be more deserters.

But by the gods was he tired, Craster’s Keep came into view perhaps three weeks, or was it four? He didn’t know, but it came into view, and he had never been so relieved to see that shit stain’s keep. The man was a monster, and Jeor had suspected for a long time that nothing was quite right with that man. Still the thought of food and a warm fire was enough to keep him going. It was only when the chill and the breeze picked up that he realised what a fool he’d been. There were white eyed monsters approaching, and he saw someone who looked like Craster. He swung his sword, he killed monsters and the dead, but there were too many. His men abandoned him. He roared at the beasts, and killed them, he watched his horse die and rise again as something infinitely worse. He watched as the beasts danced around him. He felt his arms grow tired, he felt his sword drop, he felt the blow and he sighed. He wanted so much to sleep.

* * *

 

**King Robert I Baratheon**

The letters had been sent and responses had been received, Robert was relieved that everything was sorted now. It still surprised him that his children had grown so much to the point where betrothals and marriages needed to be arranged for them. Still, he supposed that one had to expect such a thing. He rubbed a hand over his face, the hour was bloody late, there never was any rest for those who served a Kingdom the size of Essos. There was a knock on the door and his son and daughter entered, they both bowed before him and then took the seats he gestured to. Cersei was sat by his side.

“I have summoned you both here to talk about your status as regards betrothals. There has been quite a lot of talk about this matter around court, and though I might not always pay attention to what is said, I know that there has been talk about one or two men and women being considered. I will tell you right now, that there were only two candidates I had ever considered for both of you.” Robert said. He took a breath to look at his son and daughter, they were both listening intently. “As such, after having received approval from both their fathers, I am delighted to say that you Myrcella shall be marrying Robb Stark, whilst you Jon shall be marrying Margaery Tyrell.”

There was a brief pause, then Jon handed his sister a coin. Robert snorted, and Jon explained. “We had a bet at the order of which the betrothals would go. I said that you’d betroth me to Lady Sansa, and Myrcella to Ser Willas.”

Robert looked at Myrcella and she smiled. “I said it would be the other way, me to Robb and Jon to Margaery.”

Robert laughed. “I see, how interesting. Of course I need not explain the benefits that will come of these betrothals and marriages to you. Both of them shall be coming down to King’s Landing before the year is over, to formally meet you and exchange words and vows.”

That seemed to surprise Jon. “You mean to say we’re going to be getting married at the end of the year?”

Robert nodded. “Oh yes, there is no reason to delay. Whether or not that means you consummate your unions is up to the pair of you.” He laughed at the expression on his son’s face. “You may leave.” Both his children bowed and then left. Robert turned to Cersei and said. “I know you wanted the Stark girl here, but truthfully, I think that Myrcella will thrive in the north. And from what Cella has told me herself, the Stark boy likes her and they’ve already talked about how they would change Winterfell. Ned has promised to make sure that Lady Catelyn speaks with Myrcella as well when they come to visit.”

“I know, I also know that it is better to have a girl who knows how to play the game as our son’s wife, than someone who would need to be groomed and taught how to play the game. I just worry that now we have done this, how will things go? Margaery is a sweet girl and smart, her harridan of a grandmother will no doubt accompany her, as will her father. The Tyrells are almost as numerous as the Lannisters, there will be a big grouping.” Cersei said.

“I know, and I know that they will try to make some foolish ploy or the other. But they do not have the support that your family does, Margaery will not be able to cultivate anything without it going through you or me. That should be enough to check their power advancement for now.” Robert said. He clapped his hands then and the spider appeared from somewhere. Robert looked at the eunuch, he had often wondered in the wisdom of keeping the eunuch around, but he supposed if the man got results it was worth the risk. “Tell us what word you have.”

Thankfully, the eunuch’s voice did not simper now. It was deep and reflective. “The Conclave of the Faith continue to deliberate between candidates, they are currently leaning toward the female candidate per your suggestion, Your Majesty. As such, I think we should have a result before the year is out and the marriage of His Royal Highness.” Robert nodded, that was good. “As for other news, our friend the Archmaester wrote to inform me that the mockingbird has met with him and been given the package as instructed. As such he expects that the mockingbird will make his move before this moon is out.”

“Good, you have your little mice keeping an eye on him?” Robert asked, if he could get the son of a bitch then things would be very good indeed.

“I do, Your Majesty, and after his little display the week before, I have made sure to step up their protection.” Varys responded.

“Good, I want a report the moment Baelish does as we expect him to do.” Robert commanded the eunuch bowed.

“There is one other piece of news, Your Majesty.” The eunuch said. “It involves the Targaryens.”

Robert straightened. “Go on.”

“After some dispute between Khal Drogo and Viserys Targaryen, there was a fight, and Viserys Targaryen killed two of the Khal’s bloodriders, consequently, Drogo promised to take Viserys to Westeros, and as such he has made his way with his great Khalasar to Meeren where they hope to gather a fleet to take them toward Westeros. The Khal’s wife is also with child, hence the urgency with which he moves.” The eunuch said.

Robert digested this information and then asked. “Our informant remains amongst their midst.”

“He does, Sire.” The eunuch responded.

“Tell him to use the tears that he was given. I will not allow the bitch to have a child.” Robert said, he knew the girl was just a child, but another Targaryen in the world would make things far too complicated.

“Yes Sire.” The eunuch said. He then added. “Euron Greyjoy was last spotted heading toward Asshai, so we need not worry about him.”

Robert suspected the eunuch was lying but he let it pass for now. He waved a hand and the eunuch disappeared, he turned to his wife and said. “You will need to write to your father, tell him what we have learned, and tell him to get Gerion on the case.” His wife nodded.


	6. Conflicts

**Lord Eddard Stark**

Ned took a sip of wine and sighed, summer was still raging throughout the north, though he knew that as the words of his house so often foretold, winter was coming. Right now it was boiling hot, and so, the chilled wine was one thing that helped keep him cool. He looked at his son and wife, and briefly at Maester Luwin before speaking. “It has been agreed, you are to marry Her Royal Highness Princess Myrcella Baratheon, Robb, and the marriage will take place in King’s Landing at the end of the year. A ceremony in the Great Sept and then another one before the godswood.” Whilst he had initially thought that perhaps marrying Sansa off to the Crown Prince would bring more benefit to the family, he still remembered what had happened to the last Stark girl who’d gone south, and he did not want that fate for his daughter. This betrothal between his heir and the Princess was still good, and it would bring a considerable dowry as well, which was always beneficial.

His son nodded and said. “That is good news.” Ned knew his son had been writing to the Princess, so wasn’t surprised that his son was responsive to the betrothal. “Why are there two ceremonies happening in King’s Landing though? Why not simply have one ceremony in King’s Landing and then another ceremony here in Winterfell?”

Ned had wondered at that as well, he’d have preferred to have the vows said before the Heart Tree of Winterfell, but then when the King commanded, one had to obey. “I believe that the King wishes for his daughter to get accustomed to certain things in King’s Landing before departing. And he also wishes to discuss some things with me that he feels can only best be discussed in King’s Landing.” Ned had a rough idea of what those things would be, and he did not look forward to that discussion.

Robb seemed satisfied with the answer, but Catelyn asked. “And what of Sansa, has there been any word from Lord Mace?” Ned sighed again, he’d been speaking to two or three lords about having their heirs marry Sansa, as he had not been sure if the King would agree to a marriage between his heir and Sansa.

“Lord Mace has not yet responded, I believe he is still considering the proposal, as well as that of a marriage between his heir and Arianne Martell. The Martells are still waiting to hear from the Tyrells also. Whilst Lord Royce has said that he would be more than happy to welcome Sansa to his household.” Ned said, out of all the options they had considered for Sansa, that was the one he most favoured. Andar Royce was someone Ned had met, and he liked the lad, and he trusted Yohn, the boy’s father.

Catelyn nodded, and Ned knew she would’ve liked for their daughter to have married the Crown Prince and failing that marrying Willas Tyrell would perhaps do her some good, even with his damaged leg. Ned then picked up another letter, this one from Benjen and said. “It seems that there have been some very troubling developments up at the Wall. Lord Commander Mormont was slain whilst leading a retreat from the Fist of the First Men and as such there will be a need for new elections.”

“How was he killed?” Robb asked, the boy’s direwolf’s head tilting to one side as he asked that question.

Ned looked through the letter and said. “Benjen does not say, only that he was killed whilst leading a retreat. He has asked for more men and supplies, as it seems that this ranging quite badly damaged the Watch. I think I might well need to head to Castle Black to see this for myself.”

“Do you not think that would send the wrong signal, Father?” Robb asked. “After all, if they are holding elections, they would want them to be as impartial as possible and not part of any undue influence. And if Uncle Benjen has cast his name forward for consideration then you most definitely don’t want to be seen as lending support there. The Watch is supposed to be without political affiliation.”

Ned smiled at his son, impressed once again with his knowledge and his political acumen. “This is true, yet I would be going in my capacity as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, the Watch’s lands might not be considered formally part of the north, but they are still within the area, and as such, I would be remiss not check with the Watch. Benjen is also asking for more men and supplies, I need to make sure they get there.  There have been some disturbing reports as of late.”

His son grimaced. “Bran’s been seeing the dream again.”

Ned sighed. His second son continually saw a dream of a three-headed crow taunting him, encouraging him to fly or face the dangers of the white, the snow, with its blue tinge and the cold dead eyes. Ned had tried reassuring his second son that it was just a dream, but Bran was insistent that it was real. He did not know why his son thought that way, but he did. “Did he see any more of it?” Ned asked.

Robb shook his head. “Only the same thing.”

“Is there nothing you can give him, to ensure he doesn’t see these dreams?” Catelyn asked Maester Luwin.

The Maester shook his head. “I am sorry, my lady, but the only thing I can think of is dream sleep and that is only to be used in the most desperate of circumstances.”

Ned sighed. “I shall speak with Bran, and see whether there is any other way to help him. In the meanwhile, I want a record of all the costs and loans that have been paid and taken out in the past three moons, and I want a record of all the arms we have.” Ned said to Luwin.

“At once, my lord.” Luwin replied, bowing before heading out. Robb got up and left as well, leaving Ned alone with Catelyn, he took his wife’s hand.

“Everything will be fine, Cat, I promise you.” He said, hoping to the gods that he was right.

* * *

 

**Prince Jon Baratheon**

The council chamber was stuffy, summer was in full heat, and it seemed determined not to leave. Jon wiped his brow, and then took a sip of sweet wine. He found his mind straying once again to his betrothed, she would be arriving in King’s Landing alongside her father and other Tyrells in a few weeks, and he was excited, was that the right word for it? He felt excited and a level of anticipation that was perhaps not manly to feel. He took another sip of sweet wine and listened as Baelish spoke about figures. “There is an annual yield of three hundred thousand dragons from the crops in the Riverlands, but the Northern Riverlords are growing tired of having to give fifty-five percent of that to the crown. They feel they are not getting a fair yield in return.”

Jon who was sitting in the meeting as his father’s representative, whilst his father and mother were out visiting the lords of Crackclaw Point, looked through his notes and then said. “They have gotten new sewage works, they’ve got new tools with which to plough the lands, and they’ve seen new buildings built which enable them to do things that their ancestors could only have dreamed of. What do they think a fair yield is?”

Baelish grinned, and in that instant, Jon decided that he did not like that grin, it seemed so very sinister. “I believe they want to cut the amount they send to the treasury to about forty-five percent and they want to be able to decide what they spend their own yield on. The works that the crown has told them they have use the money for, they believe add nothing to their people’s lives.”

Jon looked down at his notes and laughed. “So, they think seeing more people working and not using the begging bowl, and being able to pay their taxes and ensuring that their own pockets are lined is a bad thing? Who is it who is leading these protests?”

“Lord Walder, my Prince.” Baelish replied. “It seems the old man is trying to stir up the rest of the Riverlords.”

“More like he’s trying to create something of a scene to distract from the fact that he’s dying and there’s going to be a war of succession when he dies.” Uncle Renly said. Jon wasn’t sure what to make of Uncle Renly, on the one hand he was smart and funny, on the other there was an arrogance about him that really grated on Jon.

“What precisely is Lord Walder’s complaint? He’s been getting an annual profit of some two hundred and fifty dragons per sale for the past three years.” Jon said. He looked down at the notes he had made. “And he’s used that to feed his growing brood. Perhaps he should stop having children if that’s what he’s worried about.”

Uncle Renly laughed. “I do not think Lord Walder is capable of not having children. He sees a woman and he has to fuck her, he’s a creepy old man. And they always have to have something to fuck.”

Jon smiled slightly, whilst noticing that Uncle Stannis who served as Master of Ships looked completely disapproving. Whilst Lord Arryn, who was Hand seemed indifferent to what was being said. “Lord Arryn,” Jon said and the man and his namesake looked at him. “What course of action would you recommend? I believe sending a letter to Lord Walder to remind him of how he benefits from the current system and that stirring up trouble is a treason, should work well, do you agree?”

Lord Arryn said nothing for a moment and then he said. “I do, Your Royal Highness. Lord Walder is like a petulant child at times, he needs attention and a royal slap on the wrists is something I believe will provide that.”

Content with that, Jon looked at Baelish and said. “Lord Baelish you have your orders, send the letter to Lord Walder.” The master of coin made a note on that, and Jon then turned to Grand Maester Pycelle, the old man looked half asleep. “Maester Pycelle,” the man woke up then. “What word is there from the Conclave of Maesters? Have they reached a decision on the issue of the Treaties of Daeron?” That book was one that Jon was fascinated by, it claimed to be a book written during the time of the Dance of Dragons in the hand of Daeron the Daring, supposedly the man had written an account of his life and his thoughts and opinions, as well as something to do with dragon rearing. There was of course some doubt as to its truthfulness, considering there was no other existing record of Daeron the Daring’s writing. Jon believed that if the book were true it could answer some questions about other things, that could benefit the Kingdom.

Pycelle took his time in responding, and when he did, his voice was muffled. “I believe that they have decided that the book contains some things that are genuine and other things that are not. They are holding a great council with all the maesters of the citadel in attendance to discuss what should be considered valid.”

Jon listened intently, and then at that last word said. “I will attend this meeting.” Pycelle looked slightly surprised and Jon elaborated. “This book is something that could benefit the entire Kingdom, not just the citadel. I would feel remiss if I did not attend.” Pycelle nodded and made a note of that.

Just then a door opened and a messenger walked in and whispered something to Varys, the messenger also handed him a piece of paper. Jon looked at the eunuch and the eunuch replied. “Sire, apologies for the interruption, but my little mice report that there has been a great gathering of arms and men in the Reach. It seems Lord Florent has decided he does not like the course of the betrothals that your father, His Majesty the King chose. He has rebelled.”

 


	7. Worms

**Lord Jon Arryn, Hand of the King**

Florent had done just as Jon had thought he would, the man was too proud by half and as such would never accept that his house had not been in power or had a chance of gaining power since the reign of Aegon the Unworthy. Jon had counted on that and used his influence in Brightwater Keep and other regions in the Reach to stir the strings, and now everything had come to fruition. It was a good thing as well. Now, with Baelish, Marwyn, Orton Merryweather and Ser Hugh Beesbury. “Now that Florent has made the first pitch in this rebellion of his, things are going to get very interesting. Already the King has had men watch his brother, the Lord of Dragonstone, and the man’s wife. The Spider continues slipping through the webs of deceit that he himself laid down many years ago. Baelish, you have reports for me?”

The Spider was someone who Jon had not been able to figure out. There was something that he wanted, but what it was, he did not know. Baelish, however, had quite a good idea about the Spider and so Jon relied on the man to figure out the eunuch’s plots. “The Spider has been meeting with his friends from Pentos, discussing the importing of cheese and other substances, but through them he also gets word from the East and from the Reach also. It seems that House Osgrey is going to be stirring from its own slumber to draw on the support of its bannermen. Indeed, the Osgreys might soon become more of a problem for the crown than the Florents.”

“The Osgreys have more ties to the East than they do Westeros, what reason would they have to rebel?” Merryweather asked, the man was useful, he had money and contacts through his wife Taena of Myr, but he was deeply lacking in the intelligence that his grandfather had had. The question he had just asked was the most obvious example of that.

Jon looked at the man and said. “The Osgreys are connected to the Blackfyres, or rather they were connected to the Blackfyres through a great many marriages and trade offs, and after the Blackfyres, they integrated with marriages to the Lannisters and the Redwynes, and now they hold shares in many of the institutions that have made Westeros as strong as it is now. If they rebel, then their capital will be withdrawn from these institutions, we do not want complete chaos. We are trying to make the King see sense, not destroy the institution that was created.”

Merryweather looked confused. “But surely, if the Osgreys rebel, then the Florents will have to defeat them anyway, and with the Florents having some six thousand men to call and the Osgreys only some two thousand that should not be much of a competition.”

“You forget my lord, that the Osgreys have ties with the Ambroses, the Appletons, Blackbars, Cockshaws and countless other houses.  Add together their strength and you get a very different picture, one that would stop what we are trying to achieve from ever coming to being. We want to scare the crown, not overthrow it.” Baelish said.

“So, then what do we do?” Merryweather asked. “How do we ensure that the Osgreys remain where they should be and they do not think to bring about something that could throw us all into chaos?”

Jon smiled. “I’m glad you asked that question, my lord. You see, there is this thing called money, and the Osgreys have a lot of capital, but they do not always have it at times that they need it. Baelish, if you would.” Here Baelish pulled out a book and placed it on the table before them. Jon opened the book and said. “Transactions that will help give life to the Osgreys mines and their gold deposits, thus ensuring that they can buy back the towns that they lost all those years ago. Lord Osgrey has been desperate for such a thing for a great many years now, and so, a little investment from the corporations that Lord Baelish runs will be enough to convince him to stand down.”

Baelish smiled. “I shall have my men meet with Osgrey in three days’ time, to ensure that everything is in order and that nothing can be left to chance.” Jon nodded, he’d trained the young man well, and as such there wasn’t a risk of them failing.

“And what if the Florents should decide that perhaps they misjudged their time for rebelling? Lord Florent might not be young but his son and heir is not the most adventurous of people.” Beesbury pointed out. “How will you ensure that they keep fighting?”

Jon smiled. “I’m glad that you asked that. You see the Florents are at present running desperately short of money. Consequently, funds are what they require, and funds are what they shall receive.” Again, the book was opened and Jon pointed to the respective pages. “As you can see, they are running desperately short on silver, they need it to develop their building works and ensure that their people do not turn over to the Tyrells. Consequently, we have more than enough silver to give them as incentive to keep fighting.”

Beesbury seemed appeased by this. Marwyn spoke then. “I have had word from my friends in the citadel, Tyrell is under suspicion for trafficking goods out of the area and into the Reach. Consequently, the conclave is assessing him for suitably. I can either move the judgement on him or keep it in place.”

Arryn considered the question, Pycelle had served his purpose for now, he was ageing and likely to die before the year was out. Tyrell was still young and could well develop his own agenda. “What of Ebrose, where does that man stand on the Conclave’s reckoning?”

“He will be nominated for the silver rod, within the next two moons.” Marwyn said.

“Excellent.” Jon replied. “Keep Tyrell under suspicion.” Ebrose would be far more useful than Tyrell if they were to prevent the Tyrells getting what they wanted after all.

* * *

 

**Lord Renly Baratheon**

Renly sat as still as he could in his brother’s solar, the news that had come from the Reach was troubling, mainly because Loras was worried and when Loras was worried, so too was he. When the word had come that Florent had rebelled, Renly had advocated for prompt action immediately, after all the rebellion was against the crown, but Robert in his infinite wisdom had pointed out the letter that Mace Tyrell had sent saying he would handle it. Renly had argued that Mace couldn’t handle his own children when they were babes, how could he handle an actual rebellion? And with the word that had come, it seemed he had been proven right. He sat and watched as his brother read over the letters and correspondence from the Reach, when he put down the letter, Renly spoke.

“I was right. Mace couldn’t handle the fighting, the need for prompt action. He underestimated Florent, and now he’s suffered two defeats and is most likely going to face a siege. We need to get moving, Your Majesty, it won’t be long before Florent looks to get into the Stormlands.” Renly watched as his brother looked at him, then picked up another letter. Frustrated, Renly continued speaking. “Randyll Tarly is busy fighting invaders from the Southern Riverlands who have declared their support for Florent, you know that means that any hope of a peaceful solution has gone out of the window.” Still his brother read through the letters and said nothing. “You know the longer that this goes on, the greater the chance others will follow.”

Now Robert put the letters down and looked at him. “The Florents and the Tyrells have been squabbling for years, your lover’s worry over his family is not my concern. But if it is such a concern to you, then you shall command a host from the Stormlands and fly the royal banner and deal with the threat. Ser Meryn Trant shall go with you, to make it official.” Renly breathed in relief, he could give Loras some good news. “I will however be taking the forces of the crownlands with me to the Stormlands to handle the troubles that seem to be brewing there.”

Renly blinked. “Troubles?” He had not got any such notices from Ser Cortney, nothing had come up. He would have known.

Robert sighed. “It appears that there is a band of vagabonds who evaded Doran Martell, and as such have gotten the peasantry to consider themselves hard done by, this is predominantly on the old border regions between the Stormlands and Dorne. Consequently, the chief vagabond has named himself the Vulture King. Doran Martell says he is doing what he can to stem the tide of people going to this beast. I am not convinced that he is being honest, therefore I shall be riding forth, with the Kingsguard and Jon to handle things there.”

Renly stared at his brother, then he acknowledged what his brother had done, as was so often the case when Loras was worried, Renly put his concerns over anyone else’s. This was something that he’d tried working on, but it seemed that it was not any easier. He bowed his head. “Very well.” His brother patted him on the arm, and then just as Renly sensed the meeting was to be adjourned Stannis spoke.

“What do you wish the Royal Fleet to do?” Renly knew his other brother had never quite forgiven him for being given Storm’s End, even though he’d had no say in the matter whatsoever. And with his goodfather the one leading the rebellion, Renly had the feeling his brother was trying desperately to show that he was capable.

“The fleet shall remain here and act as a defence against any who might think to bring things to the boil. Braavos is still undergoing an election for the Sealord position, and the Faith are still trying to decide on who they should choose as the High Septon. Cersei will be acting as regent in my absence.” Robert said.

Renly saw immediately that had been meant as another blow to Stannis, and it showed. His brother grit his teeth and asked. “Are you sure she will be able to handle the pressure?”

Renly very nearly groaned aloud, his brothers could be so fucking stupid with one another sometimes. Robert simply harrumphed. “She negotiated your marriage and she ensured that I did not remove your hand when you tried to take more than you were owed, brother. I think she will be able to handle things just fine. Dismissed.” Renly got up and bowed as did Stannis, they went their separate ways. Renly arrived back in his chambers, where Loras was waiting.

“Well?” his lover asked.

“The King has given us leave to ride out with levies from the Stormlands to aid your father.” Renly said, Loras rushed forward and embraced him, planting a firm kiss on his lips.

“Thank you.” Loras said as he pulled back. “When do we leave?”

Renly thought over this, he’d need to make adequate preparations and he’d need to convince his brother that he was serious about being Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. “In two days’ time.” He said. He was grateful that Loras did not complain about that, instead he was surprised when his lover said.

“You know we should check in on Storm’s End first, before we go. To see how the boy is doing as well.”

Renly nodded, the boy was one of Robert’s illegitimate children, who the Queen had said needed to be raised properly, so as not to get in the way when things were sorted. Renly often wondered how his goodsister felt about the affairs that Robert had had early in their marriage, before they really knew one another. The boy was a year younger than the Crown Prince and was perhaps taller and more muscular than him. “I suppose so.”

“You know he idolises you.” Loras said playing with the strings of his trousers.

“Loras.” Renly growled warningly, he did not like such talk.

Loras bent down and looked at him suggestively. “It’s true you know.” Renly thought about that and what he thought of his actual nephew as his lover made love to him.


	8. Summersaults

**Lord Eddard Stark**

Last Hearth was the furthest castle of the great lords of the north, and even then it wasn’t so much a castle as a keep, made of wood and stone and protected by a moat. The Umbers were proud people and they were loyal, fanatically so, so Ned ignored some of their baser actions so long as they kept them without the issues of the north. He’d been heading to the Wall, to speak with his brother when Jon Umber, the Greatjon and Lord of Last Hearth had asked him to attend to some issue or the other. Ned had dreaded having to handle another dispute between Umber and the Long family, but instead had been surprised. A wildling, or rather a band of wildlings had been captured, and as such they were supposedly saying things that Jon could make neither heads nor tales of, and so Jon wanted him to handle it as Lord Paramount of the North.

He sat in the throne of the Umbers, with its giant head and called out. “Bring the prisoners in.” The doors opened and the guards pushed in the wildlings, there were three of them, two men and one woman. The men did not speak the New Tongue and so the woman was who he directed his questions to. “You know why you are here?” The woman nodded. “You have been found to be trespassing on land belonging to King Robert Baratheon, and pursuant to the agreement signed between Lord Edwyle Stark and Raymond The Crow’s Eye, the wildlings were not to cross the wall again unless invited to do so by the people of the North. So, would you please explain why you are here?”

The woman said nothing for a long time. For a moment Ned wondered if he’d spoken too quickly and would need to repeat what he’d said, then he shook off such a thought for he’d seen the woman speak, her name was Osha and she understood the new tongue perfectly well. She said nothing, and as the silence dragged on Ned found his patience beginning to thin. Perhaps she would need some encouragement, he looked at the Greatjon and the man nodded and started moving toward the woman’s male companion. As she saw that she spoke. “We were running. We did not want to head north to the Frost Fangs where Mance was summoning the tribes of the Free Folk. We were not mad enough to do that. To head north would be to invite death into our lives. And we prefer to live. And so we scaled the wall and crossed at a point where the defences were lacking.”

Ned listened to the woman’s reasoning, so it was true that Mance was marshalling the tribes of the wildlings, but then if he were preparing for an invasion, perhaps this woman and her two companions were just part of an initial group who were scouting out the north and the wall. “Were there anymore of you who came?” He asked, and as the woman shook her head, Ned wondered why she had hesitated then. “You can only make it worse for the three of you, if you continue lying to me. Were there anymore of you?”

The woman’s male companion, a big bearded brute with brown hair snarled at her, and she replied back in kind, making clicking noises that Ned knew indicated that she was trying to assert dominance. He hid a smile behind his hand as he waited. These wildlings were so very foolish. Eventually, when she was done reprimanding her male friend she replied. “There were two more of our tribe, but they were killed as we made it down the wall. We managed to escape as we pretended to be dead. They left us alone after that.”

“And why did you not decide to join with Mance Rayder and the other wildling tribes? Why risk being captured and brought to death?” Ned asked, there was something there, he saw it in the way the woman flinched, and how her male companions snarled at her. “I remind you that your fate has already been decided upon, but you have an obligation to give us the truth.”

The woman laughed then. “Your laws mean nothing to us kneeler. Our ancestors might have agreed a treaty with yours, but they mean nothing. You cannot force the free to do anything they do not want to do.”

Ned said nothing he merely looked at the woman and then tilted his head, on response the Greatjon drew his dagger and slit the throat of one of the woman’s companions causing the man to grunt in surprise and the woman to cry out in pain. “Now, I can either have that wound tended to, or he can die. Tell me why you decided to flee south instead of join Mance.”

The woman stared at him in horror, then she quickly said. “We know what is coming from the Lands of Always Winter, my people saw it, we fled as quickly as we could. Mance is a fool, he is bringing so many people together and that will only play into their hands. They will feast on so many people being together in one place. They will consume everything and their leader will gorge himself. We could not allow ourselves to fall into that.”

“Who are they?” Ned asked.

“The White Walkers.” The woman said.

“The White Walkers are nothing more than a story.” Ned replied.

The woman, Osha laughed. “You are foolish if you believe that. They are coming and their leader is hungrier than ever.”

Deciding to play along he asked. “And who is their leader?”

Osha crossed herself. “The Weeper.”

Ned looked at her and then nodded to the Greatjon who slit both the woman and her other male companion’s throats. When their bodies fell to the ground he said. “Burn their bodies.” The Greatjon nodded and it was done, as they watched the bodies burn, the Greatjon asked.

“What are we going to do, my lord?”

Ned looked at the man and said. “Find the reserves you need, and join me at the Wall. We will have work to do.”

* * *

 

**Queen Cersei Baratheon**

The people were gathered in the throne room, murmuring and whispering, her husband and eldest son were away at war, her goodbrother, or one of them anyway was away at war also, as for her other goodbrother? Well Stannis was here, and he was looking right at her, a frown on his face. Cersei had always known that Stannis coveted power, that he wanted everyone to know that he as the son of the noble Steffon Baratheon was worthy. He was quite pathetic really, and she knew that the only reason Robert hadn’t taken his children away from him was because his wife was a good mother. The people of the court were waiting for her to speak, or rather for someone to come forward, she was sat on a chair just below the Iron Throne, Ser Mandon Moore and Ser Preston Greenfield standing guard, she did not trust Moore and felt he was Arryn’s creature, as for Greenfield he was average at best, if someone wanted to kill her their job was infinitely easier.

Eventually a woman came forward and curtseyed. “Your Majesty, my name is Elaena, I own three taverns in the city and I have come to you to ask for redress against the sins committed by the City Watch.”

Cersei leaned forward, Janos Slynt was in the pay of Littlefinger and if she could find a reason to remove him she would take it gladly. “And what did these members of the most honourable city watch do?”

The woman hesitated and Cersei said. “You need not fear any reprisals, my lady. You are under my protection.” The woman visibly relaxed and said.

“They entered my tavern on the last day of the week, and proceeded to drink and eat, that was fine, but as the night wore on and they drank more, they started acting as ill befits members of such a prestigious organisation. They harassed my serving girls, and they even beat my son to within an inch of his life. When I asked for assistance against them, their fellow brothers refused, saying that the City Watch was immune to such things.”

The court murmured, privately Cersei was delighted that this had happened, not the harassment of course, but the fact that the woman had presented such a story, as it meant she now had grounds to fire Ser Janos, the incapable oaf that he was. “And, what happened then?”

 “I said I would go before the court, to you, Your Majesty. And they laughed and they held me down and they, they had their way with me.” The woman replied.

There were angry whispers amongst the court, Cersei saw Baelish smiling and she wondered at that, him losing Slynt would be a blow to his own desires, but for now she focused on what was before her. “I know this will mean nothing, but I apologise most humbly on behalf of the throne. You should never have had to experience such disgusting treatment from officers of the Watch. Indeed, you shall have recompense. Slynt.” She said, the man stepped forward. Cersei looked at the woman and asked. “What were the names of the officers who did this?”

The woman was visibly shaking now. “Traveston, Goat, and Hoat.”

Cersei nodded. “Slynt summon those three men here now.” The man stammered but quivered under the look she gave him and he eventually moved off to do as asked. As they waited, Cersei looked around the court, Baelish seemed to be contemplating her, with his beady eyes, Jon Arryn looked as if he were going to be sick, Stannis looked well she didn’t know what he was thinking. Eventually the three men stepped forward through the crowd. “Are these the men?” She asked the woman, she nodded her head. “What would you like to be done to them?”

“I cannot forget what they have done, Your Majesty, I cannot forgive them. I do not think they should die for that would be too easy a punishment for them. I wish for them to lose their manhood.” The woman said. There were roars of approval from the court.

Cersei smiled. “If that is what you wish, then that is what you shall get.” She looked down at the three men and said. “You violated the oaths you made to serve the crown and the people of King’s Landing, as such you are no longer deserving of being part of the City Watch. Ser Mandon.” The men had their trousers forced down and then one after the other, clean strokes removed what had once defined them. The men screamed as they were led away, their blood dripping down onto the floor. The woman curtseyed and walked away. “Clean this mess.” Cersei said and the servants came to do as bid.

This time a young man, with blonde hair and green eyes, with a little bit of stubble on his face walked forward, he bowed. “Your Majesty, my name is Jason Waters, I am a member of the Holy Faith, and I have come with a request from the Most Devout.”

Cersei looked at the man, she recognised him, though she did not where she had seen him before, she took a moment to compose herself then said. “Very well, and what is this request?”

“They request that you take a moment from the reflections tonight to issue a summons for all those who hold to the faith to worship and to reflect for the time is coming.” Waters said.

“And what time is that?” Cersei asked.

The man looked at her and grinned. “The time of the truth, the time of the coming where the sin shall be removed and all shall know that the Valonqar is coming.”

Cersei froze at that, and she didn’t know what was happening until she saw Ser Mandon cut down the man, and turn to her and say. “He lied, Your Majesty, he carried the mark of the Black and White.” Cersei nodded and it came down to Stannis to call for the court meeting to end. She sat where she was, stunned. What the hell had happened? “The children, make sure the children are safe.” She said then, her heart hammering as she remembered the witch’s prophecy.


	9. Battle And Intrigue

**Crown Prince Jon Baratheon**

They had marched with two thousand men from the crownlands, mainly drawn from those lords near King’s Landing who could come at such short notice, and then had marched into the Stormlands drawing some three thousand men. There had been arguments over the course to pursue, what with word coming that this so called Vulture King had defeated a host under the command of Lord Manwoody, something that everyone found hard to belief, and of course the defeat of some of the Marcher Lords which had been easier to understand given the reports of the superior numbers that the Vulture King supposedly had. Jon had found it all somewhat strange. Firstly, he wanted to know where this Vulture King had come from, and secondly he wanted to know how he was drawing so much support. Such concerns would be put on the back burner though, for right now he was in command of the Vanguard with Ser Jaime at his side, he was marching with his men to fight the initial host of the Vulture King.

“Be prepared and be calm, your duty is to hold them, do not try anything foolish. We shall come and finish them.” His father had told him before he had marched off. They’d not had word from Uncle Renly and that had worried Father, though he had tried to hide his fear. Jon had sworn he would not do anything foolish and he intended to stick to that promise, but if the opportunity arose to strike a nail into the coffin of the rebellion he would take it. “Up ahead, Your Royal Highness.” Uncle Jaime said. Jon looked up and through the slit in his helm saw a massive host, stretching from the patch of march to the streams. Jon raised a mailed fist and called a halt to the march. His men stopped and he looked before him. There were peasants, in fact he was quite convinced that this entire army was made purely of peasants. They held pitchforks and other tools, there were very few knights amongst them.

“You can lay down your weapons and surrender. None shall think less of you.” Jon said, having taken off his helm. “You can lay down your weapons and simply return to your fields and tow them. His Majesty, King Robert has agreed that such a thing can be done. Just hand over your leaders for judgement.” There was silence, no one said anything, so Jon said it again. “You need not fight. We are willing to listen to your concerns. We need not shed your blood.” He knew that these peasants would not stand a chance. Jon had heavy cavalry in his ranks and battle hardened knights who had fought in the rebellion and other wars, these peasants would not stand a chance. Nobody responded, Jon sighed. He looked at his uncle and said. “Sound the horn.” The signal was given, and the horn sounded as Jon put his helm back on. The archers stepped forward, and counted to four before unleashing their arrows. The peasants took the hit and fell. Another line came and they too fell, then a third line and the same result.

Jon sighed as he saw what was happening. The peasants looked as if they wanted to break, to run and flee, but something was preventing them from doing so. He scanned the battle field and could find nothing, no commander, no one barking orders. He wondered who or rather what was keeping the peasants in line. When he asked his Uncle, his uncle snorted. “Fear. That is what is keeping them in line.” Jon sighed again, and then as the peasants started marching in orderly lines toward them, Jon called for his archers to fire again. A few of the peasants were taken out, and he felt grief, these were his people he was killing. The archers retreated as the peasants got closer. “Pikes.” Jon called out, the pikemen stepped forward and impaled the first few lines of peasants before they pulled back, and then it was time for him to fight.

Jon drew his Warhammer, he used one hand to swing it, watching as the peasants took the blows to their heads. He knew they would not get back up and he felt terribly sorry for their families, their wives who would never get to share in their embrace, and their sons and daughters who would never know their father’s love. Jon swung his hammer and felt his anger grow. This was not right, nor was it fair. He continued going, the hammer doing the work, they carved a bloody path through the peasants. He killed many of them, knowing that they were dead the moment his hammer hit them. There was not a chance that any of them could survive such blows. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, this thought that his first battle was not against the Vulture King himself but against the mere peasantry who had been used to destroy something pure.

The battle continued for a little time, he killed more men, dozens of them, old, middle aged and young they all fell before him. His hammer had destroyed more lives than he cared to remember. Nobody managed to land much of a blow on him though, for he was more skilled than they were. Jon just felt tired and sad. His uncle remained at his side, his golden sword glimmering red with blood as time moved on.  Eventually the peasants either threw down their weapons and surrendered or they fled. Those who surrendered were imprisoned. They were questioned but gave no information. Father arrived, and after getting a bit of a bollocking, they talked and then Jon was knighted. He stood there in the mud and dirt, his black armour caked in dirt, he kneeled and said the words. He rose Ser Jon, and he knew this was just the beginning. There would be more people to kill before this war ended.

* * *

 

**King Viserys III Targaryen**

Meeren had been a shit heap, but Daenerys had revealed her pregnancy, and so they had trailed carefully. The slavers there had been those who had fawned and promised money in return for Drogo and his Khalasar remaining outside. Viserys had taken one of their women as his mistress and then left, since he had killed two of the man’s bloodriders, Drogo had showed him much more respect and even deference. He liked it, they had arrived at Astapor after avoiding Yunkai per the request of Drogo, apparently, there were some bad memories there. At Astapor he had bought the Unsullied, the best fighters in all of Essos. His army was growing he felt confident that he could garner something akin to more support. And now here he was, meeting with some half mad bastard in the docks of Astapor to arrange for transport.

The man had brownish hair, had a eyepatch over his eye, and his other eye was dark. He had a slight beard, and he smiled. “I trust Your Majesty has enjoyed the comforts of Astapor and the whore you have with you?”

Viserys looked at the man, and whilst he had pretended to be mad, he thought that this man was most definitely mad. “Indeed I have. Ser Jorah tells me that you are someone who can be counted on to deliver the ships needed to get me to return home.” Ser Jorah had protested coming here for this meeting, something about this man being mad and not wanting to associate with an Ironborn. Viserys had overruled him and ordered him to attend. Drogo and Daenerys had made camp outside the city.

The man, who Viserys knew as Euron Greyjoy, who went by many other names smiled. “Ser Jorah would be right. Then again he did fight against me and my family during my brother’s ill-timed rebellion against Robert Baratheon. After that failed mission I did indeed flee from Westeros and I took my ship and seven other ships and struck out to make the most of what I could. I ventured far and wide, I have been to the smoking ruins of Valyria, Your Majesty, and I know what resides there. And I have been to Asshai and I have seen things that would make you hard. I have also gained a crew and a fleet to rival that of the Royal Fleet. Indeed, I believe it would be better than the Royal Fleet.”

“Of course you would say that, you are trying to get His Majesty to agree to your terms, whatever they might be.” Ser Jorah snarled.

Greyjoy ignored the bear and instead kept his focus on Viserys. “You see, Your Majesty, you have the Dothraki and the Unsullied, and they are all great fighters, but you need ships that will ensure smooth transportation for them. The Dothraki are not the easiest of travellers after all. I can promise you that my ships will give them a good berth. Will make it so that their horses and they themselves are not sick.”

Ser Jorah snorted, and Viserys himself doubted the truth behind this proclamation. “And how will you do that?”

“I have means to ensure that the ships of my fleet are protected against the elements, how else would I have been able to sail to Valyria and the lands beyond Asshai?” The man replied. He pulled out a horn, dark in colour with elaborate golden carvings on its side. “This is a horn that was forged by your ancestors, in ancient time it helped control dragons, and now, now it enables the wielder to control the elements.”

Viserys stared at the horn, transfixed, remembering the eggs that his sister had. He wondered if the horn could awaken the dragons. He blinked and then asked. “Assuming I agree to your service, what would you want in return?”

Euron Greyjoy smiled. “I want what is rightfully mine. Rodrik Harlaw has turned the islands into a ruin, my nephew and niece have been raised by Greenlanders. That is not right. I want the Iron Islands and I want the right to raid through your enemies’ lands to ensure their complete submission. And once you sit the throne, then I shall be satisfied.”

Viserys looked at the man before him not entirely sure he believed him. Viserys was sure there was something else that the man wanted, he had heard the rumours about Euron Greyjoy and about the type of man he was. He had no reason to assume that the man was being genuine. And yet, the thought of returning home with this army he had was too good of a thought to pass up. He wanted so desperately to return home, to see the land of his birth. “How do I know you are being genuine and not simply lying to me?” He asked.

Greyjoy looked at him, a mad glint in his eye. He pulled out a knife and handed it to Viserys. “Take this knife, my King. Use it to make the horn yours.” Viserys looked at the man and then he knew what he needed to do. He hesitated briefly before taking the knife and slitting his palm, the blood spilled onto the horn. Greyjoy then took the horn and blew it. When he pulled the horn away his lips were black. Greyjoy looked at him and Viserys got the impression he was awaiting a command.

“Tell me truly will you help me for what you have asked?” Viserys asked.

The man’s lips went from black to purple, to blue to black again, somewhere a crow cawed. “I will. Your Majesty.”

Viserys looked at Ser Jorah who shrugged, Viserys knew that the man did not trust Greyjoy, and if he were being honest, neither did he. But still, the thought of returning home a hero, with the army he had marshalled, that was too good an opportunity to pass up. He took a deep breath and then said. “Very well, prepare your ships, get them ready and ensure that none shall be ill when they are on them. We leave in two days’ time.”

The man bowed. “As you wish, Your Majesty.” Viserys felt a slight thrill, he’d be returning home.

 


	10. Battles

**Lord Renly Baratheon**

The Stormlords had looked askance at him when he’d ordered them to march with him into the Reach, they’d not protested of course, but he could tell they wanted to address the Vulture King instead of the problems of the Tyrells. That had angered him, did they not understand that some peasant rebelling was not as big an issue as the Florents and their allies rebelling? He’d cajoled them into forming their hosts and riding out to fight. By the time they’d gotten into the Reach, they’d learned that Lord Tarly was fighting off a serious infection from wounds he’d taken fighting the Southern Riverlords, and that Lord Tyrell had barricaded himself in Highgarden whilst his sons fought the Florents and their allies.

They’d ridden as quickly as they could, beating a scouting party Florent had sent out, and now they were here, fighting the traitors. Loras was at his side, glorious in his armour. Renly wore his golden armour, and was preparing to show that he too could fight. Whilst his brother fought with a Warhammer, he fought with a sword, and he was doing some damage to the fools who had decided siding with the Florents was the smart thing to do. He estimated that there was some four thousand of the Florents men there, whilst another three thousand were further north, fighting near the streams. Renly knew that when this was done he would have to speak with his lords, he didn’t want them thinking he’d abandoned the Stormlands, but with Loras so worried he’d done what he’d had to.

The enemy was spread out near the Cockle water, taunting them, their banners flying proudly across the whole ground, the battlefield. Ser Meryn Trant, a terrible commander but a decent fighter was at his side, also, the knight of the Kingsguard assigned for his protection. It seemed the man wanted to make a name for himself more than he wanted to actually protect Renly, what with how often he disappeared. The man would reappear now and then his sword stained red, his armour caked in mud, but then he’d disappear all over again and so it went. Renly tended to ignore that, he would fight, he knew how to defend himself. His sword had taken a fair few lives already. But this fighting business was tiring, he was beginning to think that perhaps they should’ve tried the diplomatic process instead of rushing headlong into the fighting.

Renly laughed at that, it was too late to think about such things now, the fighting had already started. They would have to keep going, fighting until Florent surrendered, or was killed. He did not think Florent’s son would have the guts to keep fighting if his father died. From what Loras had told him and from what he himself had observed during his visits to the Reach, Alekyne Florent was very much in favour of peace over war. Renly hoped to exploit that, and also find out just who had provided the Florents with their wealth. They had been fighting for a few moons now, and with their lands being so heavily damaged during the fighting, he was surprised they’d been able to keep going like this. He suspected foul play, perhaps if he brought more than just Florent with him, Robert would forgive him this lapse in judgement.

Someone swung at him and he managed to duck the blow, he jabbed and parried and then jabbed again, the man whoever he was disappeared quickly enough. Renly looked through the fog of battle for Loras, and found his lover in all his glory hacking and cutting down men by the dozen. Renly spent some time admiring the man at work, Loras was a year older than Renly’s nephew and he was a much better fighter in Renly’s opinion he was aesthetically pleasing to look at, unlike Jon who was nothing more than a brute with a hammer. Renly thought over his lover’s words the night before they’d left for war again, he knew that Robert had done his best for the realm, but Renly was not convinced that Jon would be able to manage the realm once Robert died. Even though the boy was going to be married to Margaery, Renly knew he would not listen to the girl or to him, and therefore perhaps it would be better to bring someone to the throne who would listen. Someone who knew common sense and not some sort of posturing. His nephew Tommen was a smart boy, if a bit shy, but that could be taught out of him over time.

He saw Meryn Trant fall, his body caked in blood and mud, Renly barked orders and the ranks closed around him. Loras came back to him, panting, but otherwise unhurt. They looked at one another and nodded, Renly raised his sword and as one his host swept through, removing the restraints they’d put on themselves, they cleaned the men of Florent’s army before them, using their strength, the fact that they weren’t as tired as the Florents so clearly were to destroy them. Florent’s army struggled. Men were brushed down, or drowned or simply put down their weapons and accepted death as it came for them. Slowly but surely more of Florent’s commanders put down their weapons and kneeled accepting death. Renly suspected that his brother would reprimand him for that, but they had worried Loras and therefore they had to die.

They found Lord Florent’s body, stripped naked and cut in half, his son standing over it, a vacant expression on his face. Alekyne surprised them, he refused to surrender and so took the blow to that ended his life and made Tarly and his family the new rulers of Brightwater Keep. Renly sighed and ordered the rest of the Florent leadership put to death, watching without a care that they pleaded for their lives. He rode to Highgarden and met with the Tyrells and was celebrated as a hero. The sex that night with Loras was something else.

* * *

 

**King Robert I Baratheon**

They rode through the dirt and the mud, the men’s spirits were upbeat, though the memories of the peasants that had been killed still haunted a great many of them. Robert had knighted his son and heir, and had kept a close eye on the boy, to make sure he did not suffer through some of the effects that Robert knew were common amongst those who had experienced their first battle. He remembered how he had felt at Summerhall, he’d been twenty then, far older than Jon and he’d vomited for days afterwards, trying to keep the stench of the decaying bodies out of his mouth and his nose. So far, Jon had held up well, keeping things in place and commanding respect from everyone, Robert was proud.

Robert knew that when all was said and done here, he would need to think about what had caused this whole thing to happen in the first place. He would summon Doran Martell to King’s Landing and demand that he explain why he’d been so lax in ensuring that the Vulture King did not gather so many followers. He found that Martell was nowhere near as reliable as he had first been, there was clearly something going on there which needed to be addressed. He would also need to address the situation with the Florents, no doubt he would need to have them executed or sent to the wall. Giving Tarly or Stannis Brightwater Keep would disrupt things far too much. Axell Florent had no children, but was a man Robert trusted having fought alongside him during an earlier war. He would make a good Lord.

The scouts came back then, and reported on their findings. Robert looked at Jon and his son nodded. Robert watched as his son rode off to fight the initial party of the Vulture King’s host. As he waited, Robert thought over the other Vulture Kings that there had been. One had risen during the reign of Aenys the Weak, the son of the Conqueror, he had been defeated by Robert’s ancestor Orys One Hand. Then there had been the second Vulture King who had risen during the reign of Daeron the Good. He had been some noble, of a lesser sort, who had grown tired of bending to the dragons, perhaps he had sought influence with the Blackfyres. He had caused quite some damage before Dondarrion, Caron and Manwoody had put an end to him. Yet his uprising had highlighted something to Daeron the Good, there had been too great an influence of the Dornish at his court, but before the man could act on that he had died, and his second son had come to the throne. The bookish Aerys who had given a bastard power as Hand of the King.

Robert shook his head as he saw a rider galloping toward him. “What news?” he demanded.

The man took a moment to catch his breath then said. “He’s here, Your Majesty.” Robert nodded, and spurred his horse forward, Ser Barristan and Ser Borros followed, as did the rest of the army. They’d brought some eight thousand men with them, and now they were going to see how well they could fight. They came through the march and found the fighting fierce. Jon was there, his red plume and black armour making him stand out. He was fighting three men. Robert smiled, his son was a great fighter. He gave the command and they charged down into the field, fighting their way through the peasants, the entire army that this so called King had brought were peasants, that had to be a deliberate move. Robert killed his own subjects and sighed. This would not end well.

The enemy kept coming and Robert kept swinging his war hammer, very few of them got their weapons to hit him, those that did hit him hard, and he winced from pain. Yet he kept going, through the tide ensuring that things remained strong. Eventually he was face to face with the Vulture King. The man rode on horseback and worse some sort of mask, half bird, half demon. The man did not speak, but instead charged. They both wielded hammers. Their hammers clanged off one another, Robert managed to dance back. But he was followed by this man with a mask on his face. They struck one another and Robert could feel his body beginning to cave. He fought back.

The Vulture King was a tough opponent, Robert would give him that, but Robert had fought and defeated more men that this peasant had fought. Their hammers clashed and then the hammer of the vulture King was removed, and Robert broke the man again and again until he stopped moving. It was as if something stopped then, the fighting broke, the peasants broke and ran or threw down their weapons, and Robert? Well he was not sure what happened, but one moment he was there, off his horse, the next the world went black.

He awoke in his tent, his head ringing, people were gathered around him. “What happened?” He asked.

His son came forward then, dressed head to toe in black, like some sort of black prince. “You killed the Vulture King and then you fainted. I’m not sure.”

Ebrose was there, the maester he’d chosen from the citadel. “Your Majesty is ill, you must not move.” He could barely see, but he could still hear.

“Ah, come off it, we all know I am going to die.” Robert said. Nobody said anything in response which was all the confirmation he needed. “Ser Barristan.” He said, the knight came forward. “Grab quill and paper, and prepare to write.” The knight did as he was bid. The pain was searing now, he could see his mother and father, beckoning to him. “I, Robert, of the House Baratheon, First of my Name, King of Westeros, do hereby name and confirm as my heir Jon, my firstborn son of the House Baratheon. He shall be succeeding in my land and my throne and title. I leave to him the kingdom, and its wealth. He shall rule without a regent, as recognised by those gathered here.” The knight wrote and the lords gasped, he laughed. “To my wife, I leave my diamonds, and the treasury of Asshai. To my son Tommen I leave my sword and my lands in Crackclaw Point. To my daughter I leave seven hundred thousand dragons. To my children Joanna and Joffrey, I leave the oaken fist.” He was getting tired now. He cleared his throat. And the paper was presented to him alongside his seal, he affixed it and then beckoned his son. Jon kneeled before him. “You will face a realm torn into war. You must heal it, my boy. Listen to your mother and to your councillors. And tell your mother, tell her I’m sorry.” His son murmured something, but Robert couldn’t hear him. “I love you son, and remember, you are the King now. Act like one.”

“I promise.” His son said.

Robert coughed, father was beckoning him. “The King is dead, Long Live the King.” He said as he laughed, his body gave way then.


	11. Turn Of The Tide

**Archmaester Marwyn**

Marwyn tidied up the room, moving papers into folders, placing books back on shelves. His father had always told him that a clean room meant a clean mind. His father had died drinking wildfire, thinking it would turn him into a dragon. His father was an idiot, but in this he had been right. Marwyn tidied things up and then turned and faced the man sitting on the chair. The man who Marwyn had taken under his wing and treated as a son. Petyr Baelish had risen in power and he had not forgotten the old doddering man who’d taken him in when the Tullys had rejected him. Marwyn looked at the man and asked. “What are the council saying? Now that the King is dead.” Robert Baratheon, a man with a penchant for the sweeping reforms that Aegon the Fortunate had tried, the man who had succeeded where his great-grandfather had failed. Marwyn felt something at his death, but not enough to truly mourn him.

“They are now discussing the best ways to support the new King, and how to handle the fact that Baratheon did not name a regent, but instead decided to entrust the power of the Kingship solely in his son’s hands.” Baelish said. He sounded disapproving and Marwyn smiled, for all his penchants for extravagance and talking of new ways, Baelish still had grown up in a noble’s household and had a great many things he wished to keep the same.

“A brave decision from Robert, the man was filled with them. The boy, what do you think of him?” Marwyn asked, he had gotten something of a look at the young King before the war had naturally stripped him of his youth. He’d thought him confident but a bit green. That greenness would be gone now.

“I think he will continue his father’s reforms, he was raised with those reforms at the centre of his education and already I have received a notice from his equerries telling me to ensure the accounts are ready for inspection.” Baelish said. There was a hint of worry in his voice.

Marwyn knew what was causing the young man to hesitate. “Do not worry Petyr, they will not know about the funds that Arryn asked you to send off to the Florents and the Osgreys. I have taken care of that.” He’d ensured that the funds had gone from the account Arryn had opened long ago, but rarely checked. That was the benefit of being a Archmaester, he had enough clearance that the weighers and counters did not think to question his motives, but also enough to ensure that they did not think to undermine what he was doing by reporting it to their master. “And of course, I imagine that the Queen Dowager wishes for the gold to be moved from the vaults to the dungeons?”

Cersei Lannister did not trust many people and with reason, her own father had been silent toward her for some time now and that had caused some sort of rupture. The King had been meant to judge on the issue of the succession, but with his death, the grandson of Tywin Lannister might well let the issue pass for the time being. “Yes, she wants the gold moved down to level five, where the grinches and the snarks are kept.” Marwyn raised an eyebrow, that far down meant only one thing. “She thinks that her goodbrothers are going to try and take things from her son?”

Baelish shook his head. “Stannis is already planning something, he has lodged a loan with the companies of Myrish bankers that I have in my employ and a member of Renly’s household has been seen leaving the Street of Braavos, where the Braavosi merchants sell their wares. Naharis is winning in the vote, by the way. I have done what I can but the Braavosi do not seem willing to bite.”

Marwyn waved a hand dismissively, his brother would see to Naharis and that other fool who was competing, but that did not matter. “Braavos will be the least of the throne’s concerns. So, tell me, what other news do you have from the Red Keep?”

Baelish shifted slightly, Marwyn could tell the man was about to lie to him, so he kept his face straight and waited for the lie to come. “Lord Arryn has seen fit to send a letter from his wife to Winterfell. There the wife of the hand as asked her sister to come to King’s Landing to help her with something of a family matter. I think she plans on staging an intervention for their brother, Lord Edmure. He has been spending money at prodigious rates.”

Marwyn listened and digested the information and from what he’d been told took away that the King had sent for his friend, Robb Stark to come south for the marriage between him and Princess Myrcella, and that Baelish had planted the idea in Lady Arryn’s head to write to her sister also and ask her to come. He sighed. “Petyr, you know that Lady Catelyn won’t look at you the same way she does her husband.”

Baelish’s face immediately tightened. “Why not? You yourself told me that I could have any woman I wanted if I worked the way you asked me to. And I have. And I want her.”

“She loves her husband, and he loves her. She rejected you once before Petyr, do not ruin everything you have worked for now chasing after some woman who sees you as nothing more than a friend.” Marwyn said knowing that his words would fall on death ears.

Baelish stood up then his face flushed with anger. “I am sorry, but on this we must disagree. I will show Cat that I am worthy of her love, even if that means harming her husband.” With that Baelish turned and walked out of the room.

Marwyn watched as his prodigy walked out of the room and sighed. He turned to the child who had been hiding behind the wall and said. “You have that information, go and tell your master of what you heard.” The scurrying of feet told him the child was gone.

* * *

 

**King Jon I Baratheon**

Storm’s End was a strong fortress, impregnable but haunted by ghosts. Those of the grandparents he had never met, the great-grandparents he’d never met, and so much more. His father’s body had been burned in accordance with his wishes, and now the urn which contained his ashes was constantly in Jon’s possession, he would bury his father, the first of the Baratheon Kings and the greatest, in the crypt where all Kings laid to rest. His uncle had given over the rooms of the most treasured guests for his use, and it was there that he was now, his uncle and Ser Loras standing before him. Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime stood guard behind him. Ser Borros had died during the fighting, slain by five peasants. His uncle had told him Ser Meryn had died as well, that meant they were down three Kingsguard, and he hadn’t the faintest idea who to give a white cloak.

He looked at the two men before him and said. “Uncle Renly, you did yourself and the people of the Stormlands a disservice when you went gallivanting off to the Reach. I know Ser Loras was concerned about his family, but they are the rulers of the Reach, and you are the ruler of the Stormlands, you should not have gone gallivanting off to leave your people to face the wrath of the Vulture King.”

Ser Loras scowled, but his uncle looked contrite. “I know, Your Majesty. I am sorry for that. I had thought I had covered everything in the Stormlands, Ser Cortnay had not informed me of the trouble that the Vulture King was carrying out.”

Jon held up a stash of letters. “These were found in the rookery; it seems that they were either not sent or were returned unopened. Tell me, Lord Renly why would that happen? And also tell me why after having been told of what was happening in the Stormlands, to the fief that our father, the Seven bless his soul had given to you, you did not immediately direct your attention to the Stormlands?”

“I do not know why those letters are in that state, I certainly did not receive any letters telling me of any danger in the Stormlands, nor did your father tell me of anything that might be troubling the people, before he alerted me to it as I made my request. And I did not ask to divert the forces I’d been granted permission to levy, as I had already been told where those forces were for, and that His Majesty, the King, your father at that time would be marching to the Stormlands.” Renly answered.

Jon looked at his uncle, and felt disgust, his uncle had sold out the people put under his protection to help the person he was fucking. “Next time, when the people of the Stormlands are in danger, I expect you to go and aid them, regardless of what Ser Loras demands of you in the bedchamber. Otherwise, I shall remove the Stormlands from your possession and give them to someone who actually cares. Is that understood?”

He could tell that Renly wanted to protest, Ser Loras looked ready to fight him there and then. His uncle bowed his head and murmured. “Yes Your Majesty.”

“Good, you may leave.” Jon said, the two men bowed and then left the room. Once they were gone, Jon spoke again. “I know you have something to say about this discussion, so you might as well speak freely Ser Barristan.”

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard stepped forward, his hair and beard where as white as the cloak he wore. He had served three kings before Jon had ascended the throne, and Jon often wondered how he felt about that. “Sire, I do not think that it is right to antagonise Lord Renly or Ser Loras like that. They made a mistake, and they have admitted it. Or rather Lord Renly made a mistake and has admitted to it. Yet had he not made the decision that he did, it is very possible that the Florents would’ve succeeded in overwhelming the Tyrells. Their support had grown quite considerably before Lord Rely appeared. Indeed, the southern Riverlords only stopped fighting when they learned the Florents had been defeated.”

Jon stared at the knight, the man he had grown up admiring, and said. “I understand, but Ser Loras manipulated my uncle into fighting the battle of the Tyrells for them. He cost valuable support for my father against the Vulture King. And for that I will never forgive him. I also do not believe that the Tyrells truly fought as hard as they could have done.” He knew Ser Barristan was going to ask about that, so instead he changed the topic. “Now, we have lost three knights of the Kingsguard, I want a suggestion as to who should replace them.”

Uncle Jaime spoke then. “I think Ser Hugh Beesbury acquitted himself very well during the fight against the Tyrells, and he has shown promise with a sword, he is someone known to Your Majesty, I think he would make an excellent knight.”

“I agree with Ser Jaime; I have seen Ser Hugh fight in the practice yard and I have seen how he holds himself during the ceremonies at court and during the daily life there. I think he would make a good knight of the Kingsguard.” Ser Barristan said.

“Very well, Ser Hugh shall be invited to take up the white cloak. Anyone else?” Jon asked.

“I think Ser Balon Swann would make a fantastic knight of the Kingsguard.” Ser Barristan said. “He is firm, loyal, and good with a sword and has a great head on his shoulders. He will not faint from doing his duty.”

“I agree.” Ser Jaime said.

“Very well, Ser Balon also.” Jon said. “What of Ser Loras, would he make a good candidate for the third place? It would give the Tyrells something to preen about, and it would also enable me to keep a closer eye on him.”

“If you think that is what is needed, Your Majesty.” Ser Barristan said, though Jon got the impression his Lord Commander did not approve.

“I do. Send the letters out, and let them be knighted and sworn into the brotherhood at King’s Landing.” Jon said, pleased with the work done.


	12. Starks

**Lord Eddard Stark**

Ned took one look at the wall and sighed. It had been too long since he’d last been here, as a young lad with his father and Brandon before the war had come. Lord Rickard had insisted his sons come to see the place that kept their northern boundary safe. Brandon had thought the Night’s Watch had become redundant and needed to be replaced. Indeed, Ned remembered Brandon and Lord Qorgyle agreeing on that fact, which made Ned smile now as it had then. Brandon always had had a way with people. And now here he was, again, to handle the threat of wildlings and god alone knew what else.

Benjen greeted him with a hug, and then led him to his solar, where wine was served. Ned raised an eyebrow and his brother laughed. “It’s hot Ned, we need something to stay sane here. At the edge of the world as we are.” Ned laughed, it was good to see Benjen again, after the rebellion and everything with Lyanna he had feared he and Benjen would never be close again, but time had thawed things out between them. “I take it you’re here to talk about the Wildlings?”

Ned nodded. “Aye, Jon Umber captured four of them as they were attempting to flee further south. They told us a fair bit about what was happening beyond the wall, that Mance was preparing a great host. When we pushed them as to why they had not stayed, they mentioned something about the Weeper. I’m not sure how true that is. The Weeper’s been dead for a century.” At least he hoped he had been.

His brother ran a hand over his beard. “Lord Commander Mormont died on the ranging he led. He left me in charge of Castle Black because he knew there’d be chaos after he died. One of the lads who came back Samwell Tarly told me about what happened on that ranging. He told me that they found deserted villages, the wildlings had all fled, where they’d gone no one knew. Then as they were about to make their journey back, they were attacked by dead things. And things that could only be described as White Walkers, pale, cold and blue. Lord Commander Mormont was attacked and killed.” Benjen looked as if he’d seen a ghost. “Three hundred men went north on that ranging and only ten came back.”

Ned didn’t want to sound disbelieving, but he had to ask. “Do you believe Tarly? It could have been wildlings attacking in great numbers, and he might have got things confused.”

Benjen shook his head. “I believe him, the other ten men I spoke to all agreed with Tarly, and said the same thing. And there was something else, Tarly found these.” Benjen pulled out three daggers, they were black as night, obsidian and clear.

Ned looked at his brother. “Dragonglass, where did they find these?” Dragonglass had supposedly disappeared with the dragons dying out one hundred and fifty years ago.

“On the Fist of the First Men. They found one more dagger that Tarly used to kill a White Walker.” Benjen said, at seeing Ned’s disbelieving expression, his brother got up and said. “Come, follow me.” Ned did as he was bid and followed his brother down the steps, through the passageways and into the cellars. He noticed his brother held one of the Dragonglass daggers in his hand. They stopped before one of the cells. “Look.” His brother said pointing at something in the dark. Ned went up to the bars and stared and nearly recoiled at what he saw.

“Why is there a dead body in there?” He asked.

Benjen took a torch from the wall and held it over the cell. “Look closer.”

Ned stared and recoiled. “That’s, that’s.”

“Aye. We found him near the foot of the wall, dragged him here to give him a burial, he came back to life.” Benjen replied. He unlocked the cell, the monster struggled against his chains, trying to do what the beast had done in life. “Watch.” Benjen said. He took the dagger and buried it in the monster’s neck. Ned stared in surprise as the monster stopped writhing and simply burst into dust.

Benjen picked up the dagger and pocketed it. His brother moved out of the cell and put the torch back in its socket in the wall and turned to Ned. “We found out that the daggers can destroy these things. Wights we call them, fire destroys them as well. We were attacked by ten of them a few days before you arrived. They were found near the foot of the wall, we came to bury them and they rose again. We’ve started burning our dead.”

Ned stared at his brother then and the pile of ash that had once been someone they had both known well. “How? How are they coming back?”

Benjen laughed. “Come on Ned, you read the stories just as I did, you heard Old Nan tell the stories. You know what brought them back.”

“But those are just stories.” Ned said. “They can’t possibly be true.” Could they? He wasn’t sure anymore, he wouldn’t have believed it before just now.

His brother sighed. “Ned, you’ve just seen a dead person move before your very eyes and be destroyed by Dragonglass, something we all thought was gone with the dragons. You must know that whatever it is out there, it is coming, and we need to be ready.”

Deciding to put aside his shock for a moment he said. “There will be deposits of Dragonglass in the barrows I shall get people to mining for them. And I will have the clans mining their own deposits as well. How many more Dragonglass daggers do you have?”

Benjen shook his head. “Just the three you saw. We have nowhere near enough to handle them as they come.”

“I will get as much to you as possible.” Ned said. He then added. “You know the wildlings are fleeing for a good reason.”

His brother nodded. “I know, but we cannot afford to feed them and ourselves.” Ned sighed he knew his brother was right, even if the thought repelled him.

* * *

 

**Master Robb Stark**

Robb rubbed his eyes, shit he was tired. He had spent the past three hours reading through the ledgers, and by the gods old and new was he tired. There seemed to be no end to the notes, to the calculations and to the everyday monotony that seemed to accompany this thing. Ever since his father had gone north to the wall, Robb had taken it upon himself to keep Winterfell running smoothly. He dealt with petitions from Wintertown and he dealt with the accounts, he had barely slept, but he needed the work, he didn’t want to think about the alternative. He looked up at his mother who was looking at him with that look on her face. “I’m fine, Mother, truly.”

His Mother sighed. “Robb, you’ve not slept for the past two days, and you’ve been staring the same page in the ledger for the past two hours. So, no you’re clearly not okay. Have a rest, get some sleep, this will all be here in the morning.” Robb knew his mother was right, but for some reason he found it hard to admit this.

He put aside the quill and moved the book forward. “I will sleep, when you also get some rest Mother. You have been up just as long as I have. And we both know that you’re not just staying up to keep me company.” His mother said nothing so Robb pushed on. “It has been two weeks since Father wrote from Last Hearth should anything have gone wrong he would have written by now. I also know that Bran has been sleeping a lot better since Father’s letter. We still do not know what those dreams he keeps having mean. There is no point in you staying up so long to worry.”

He got up and held his hand out, his Mother took it and together they left Father’s solar, as they walked down the steps, Mother said. “When did you get so wise? I still remember the day you came running into your father’s room with mud on your face and your little pants covered in paint.”

Robb blushed. “Well, it had to happen sometime, I didn’t want to end up like Greyjoy.” He couldn’t help the tone of bitterness that crept into his voice then, well it wasn’t bitterness per say more anger at the fool who was his father’s ward.

His mother sighed. “I’m not going to say anything on that point, you already know my views on Theon Greyjoy.” Robb kept quiet, he knew his Mother did not approve of Greyjoy nor his antics, but they tolerated him, for he would soon be returning to Pyke and then he would be out of their hair.

They got to the bottom of the stairs, and then Robb asked his mother a question that had been bothering him for some time. “You know when you were growing up in Riverrun, where you expected to learn about Winterfell once you were betrothed to Uncle Brandon?”

“I was expected to learn about the north’s customs and its history yes, but not everything. I learned more through doing my own research. Why?” Mother replied.

“I saw Sansa reading a book about the Reach the other day, and when I asked her why she was reading it, she quickly put the book away and walked out.” Robb replied. He looked at his mother then and asked. “Are you thinking of sending her south to marry Willas Tyrell?”

Mother laughed. “No dear, your father and I have not considered any betrothal for her yet. We’re still arranging everything for your own marriage to the Princess. Sansa’s betrothal will come in time when she is ready.”

Robb nodded, and they continued walking in silence, he did not know what else to say, instead he simply enjoyed being with his mother, they walked through the castle, passing servants as they did so, and he could feel his eyes beginning to close. They stopped before his room. Where Maester Luwin was waiting. “Luwin? What is it?” Robb asked.

“There have been letters for both yourself and Lady Catelyn, Master Robb.” Luwin replied handing the letters over to them both.

Robb read his letter quickly.

_Robb,_

_I hope you are well. I am sure word has reached Winterfell by now, my father, King Robert is dead, and as such I am the King. I invite you and your family to the coronation. I hope you can attend._

_Yours Faithfully_

_Jon, King of Westeros._

Robb folded the letter and looked at his mother whose mouth was wide open. “Mother? What is it?”

“The audacity.” Mother said before she folded up the letter and looked at him. “What?”

“What was in your letter?” Robb asked, concerned, he’d never seen Mother so angry before, well apart from that time he’d dropped cow dung on Sansa.

“Nothing. It was nothing important. What was in your letter?” Mother replied.

“It was from the King, he’s invited us all to the coronation. What should I say?” Robb asked, wanting to ask his mother what had been in her letter, but knowing better than to bring it up again.

Mother was thoughtful for a moment then said. “Reply back saying that you will be attending in the place of your father. We shall sort out everything else when your father returns from the wall. Does the King say when the coronation will be?”

Robb shook his head. “He doesn’t. I don’t think it’s been arranged yet.”

Mother nodded. “Very well. Well, I must go and get some rest, I suggest you do as well.” With that Mother turned and left.

Luwin soon departed as well, leaving Robb to enter his room and wonder just what had been in that letter that had caused Mother to behave so strangely. He sat down at his table and picked up a letter that Princess Myrcella had sent him some time ago.

_My dearest Robb,_

_I am well, thank you for asking, yourself?_

_Today I had the most unfortunate encounter with Petyr Baelish, the master of coin. He is very slimy and not at all pleasant. But regardless, I look forward to meeting you properly._

_Love Myrcella_

Baelish, why did that name seem so familiar? Robb put the letter down and changed his clothes, as he lay back down on the bed, he wondered if Mother knew who Petyr Baelish was.


	13. Women

**Queen Dowager Cersei Baratheon**

Robert was dead, the man she had been married to and loved for fifteen years was gone, dead on a battlefield. Grief had consumed her when she had learned what had happened, and then slowly she had come to the conclusion that it was better that he had died on the field of war, as he had always wanted, than as an old man  with his body failing. Robert was dead, but their son was alive, and so she would do her best to serve their son as she had served Robert, with wise counsel. They were all in the courtyard, awaiting the King’s return. When the gates opened and the royal party streamed in she saw her son dressed in black as night armour. He stopped his horse before her, his hair black as the armour he wore, and dismounted. She curtseyed.

“Your Majesty.” She said.

Her son smiled at her and placed his hands on her shoulders, he helped her up and hugged her. “I am sorry I could not save Father, Mother.” He whispered.

“It was not your fault, sweetling.” Cersei replied.

Her son pulled back and then said. “Come now, I have not seen any of you for some time, let me hear what has happened.”  They linked arms and walked back into the Red Keep, with Tommen and Joanna talking about what they had gotten up to at turns, Cersei watched her son and smiled, seeing how he interacted with his siblings, he had grown into a fine young man. Myrcella was watching Joffrey in her rooms, the boy had been acting up again, and Cersei just hadn’t had the patience to deal with that. Eventually Tommen and Joanna had to leave for their lessons, leaving Cersei alone with her son. Jon looked at her and asked. “How are you doing, Mother?”

“I am well enough, I miss your father, but I know that he is resting easily. Did you bring his ashes back?” Cersei replied.

“I did.” Her son answered. “I know he wished his ashes to be interred in the crypt, I intend to do that as soon as possible.” Her son paused and then asked. “I have a query for you Mother, and it has been bothering me for some time.”

Cersei was aware that her son was still in his armour. “Why don’t you get changed first and then we can discuss this.”

Jon nodded, and servants were summoned, his armour was removed and he put on yellow shirt and black trousers. Once that was done he sat down as did she. “Uncle Renly and his lover killed Lord Florent and his heir, as such, the rightful claimants to the Florent inheritance are Lord Tarly’s wife and Uncle Stannis’s wife. However, I do not think giving either the actual Lordship of Brightwater Keep and its associated lands would do any good. No doubt there would be a war over that very matter at some point in the future. Furthermore, it would upset the balance of power within the Reach. The next in line to the Keep, as Father said before the war is Axell Florent a man who father fought alongside during the rebellion. However, he is unmarried and without children. Who do you think I should name the new ruler of Brightwater Keep?”

Cersei considered the question, whilst the laws of the land had only been codified during the reign of Jaehaerys the Wise, there would be those who would rather a Tarly than a Florent hold Brightwater Keep in lieu of the treason the Florents had committed. “I believe, that you are right to be concerned. Tarly served the crown well in putting down the rebellion of the southern Riverlords and exposed a flaw in Lord Edmure’s control.” Lord Edmure had been most apologetic about this in his missives to the council. She had a feeling he was too busy trying to put a baby in his wife Roslin Frey. “However, Tarly and Lord Stannis are both not within the local of the lands of Brightwater Keep and therefore I feel that naming either one of them lord would increase antagonism. Axell Florent was dedicated to your father, and as you pointed out in your letters fought alongside Lord Renly during the war. I would suggest naming him and arranging a marriage between him and one your cousins of Lannister.”

“Cerenna will be happy to become a Lady of a powerful house.” Jon said, smirking. “Though Uncle Stannis’s daughter Shireen is soon to be of an age for marriage. However, I do not think she should marry a man who is old enough to be her grandsire.”

Cersei thought of her father and his attempts at courting some of the younger ladies in the Westerlands and nodded her head. “I agree.” There was a brief pause as her son wrote that down, he truly was organised. “What are you going to be doing about the betrothals your father organised?”

Jon looked uncertain about this. “I think the marriage between Myrcella and Robb should go through, it would do us a lot of good and ensure closer ties between the throne and the Rock. However, as it comes to the Tyrell marriage I am not sure I am comfortable. Ser Loras and I do not get along, I find Lord Mace to be a fool, and I think they did not fight as well as they could during the war.”

“Your concerns are reasonable, son, but there is the fact that they bring with them the largest army in Westeros, and should Viserys Targaryen ever decide to invade, you will need them. As the royal army has not yet been declared ready for fighting.” Cersei said, whether that had been her husband’s caution or genuine response from Ser Brynden she did not know. “There is also the dowry that Margaery Tyrell would bring, which will help fill the coffers.”

Her son nodded in acknowledgement. “I suppose there is no real other choice then is there.”

Cersei took her son’s hands and said. “You are the King, Jon, you have all the choice in the world.”

* * *

 

 

**Lady Asha Greyjoy**

She sighed with relief, then sat up in the bed, the sheets covering her body. She looked at the form next to her, panting and sweating just as she was and smiled. “You know that’s the fourth time you’ve done that move with your tongue. Are you getting predictable?”

The man, dwarf really sat up and laughed. “I would hope not. Do you not like it?”

Asha shook her head, and leaned down to kiss him, before breaking away. “I love it.” She whispered throatily.

“Well good.” Tyrion replied getting up. “You know the more time you spend here with me, the more my father is going to consider marrying you off to Devan, or some other cousin.”

Asha got up as well and moved to the bath. “Well he can try and force my hand, the agreement that was reached with the King and my uncle Rodrik states that they both need to consent to this marriage before it can happen. My uncle won’t agree with it unless I do.”

Tyrion laughed as he joined her in the bath. “How fortunate for you then. My father continues to look for the most insulting options of marriage for me. I think he wants me to knock some wench up and then kill me to raise the child as his own.”

Asha kissed him, he tasted like cinnamon he always did. “You know he won’t do that. He’s not a kinslayer. However, he might force you into a marriage. That’s why I keep saying you should just run off with me, let’s get married and then we can take the Islands and use the ships there to force him to recognise you as heir to the Rock.”

Tyrion laughed and placed soap across her body. “I know that might be something they’d do in a story, but in real life, things are bit more complicated. Since the rebellion your father failed in, my father has had the port at Lannisport watched. Fair Isle has ships patrolling constantly. Nothing gets in or out of the Westerlands without my father knowing about it. Hell, remember that one time when Uncle Gerion tried to smuggle in some fire wine from Volantis, Father knew about it long before any of us did, and was there waiting for the wine to be brought int.”

Asha groaned, she remembered that, and she remembered what had happened afterwards. “Gods that was a good night.” That had been the first night she and Tyrion had made love, fumbling and moaning into one another.

Tyrion stood up then and got out of the bath. She watched him change. “I think there might be something in going to King’s Landing though. My nephew sits the throne and he’s far less likely to have to pander to my father than Robert was. He might be more willing to listen to my arguments.”

“Won’t he be under a regency? That’s what happens isn’t it when the ruler is underage?” Asha asked, she knew that in the Iron Islands they simply let the young ruler sink or swim on their own merits.

Tyrion shook his head. “No.” he put on a red doublet. And golden trousers. “It seems that Robert decreed that he’d have his son rule on his own without a regency council. A smart move, though my sister will be there advising him no doubt.”

Asha sighed, she did not know why Queen Cersei continued to insist that Tyrion was responsible for her mother’s death. Especially as she was herself a mother and must know the difficulties that came with childbearing. She could tell that Tyrion did not want to focus on that just now though, so instead she said. “I got a letter from Theon, he mentioned that he would be leaving Winterfell for the Islands in a moon’s time.” Despite her best efforts, her brother still wrote incredibly formally to her. She supposed it was only natural they’d both been children when they’d been taken from Pyke. It still hurt though. She got out of the bath, dried herself and started putting her own clothes on. “I think he wants to know when I shall be venturing to Pyke, and whether or not the Lannister family will be bringing anyone with me.”

Tyrion looked surprised. “What, does he think that you are followed around all the time?” Asha grinned, whilst she wasn’t followed around by Lannister guards, she and Tyrion did spent a lot of time together.

She moved to her lover and bent down to kiss him. When she pulled away, she could see the hardness in his breaches. “I think he still thinks that your father is watching my every move like a hawk waiting to swoop in and pounce.” She sighed then. “I get the impression that the Starks have done a lot of that to him.” The northmen never had liked the Ironborn and they likely never would. She only hoped the Starks hadn’t done something to completely hurt her brother, otherwise they would pay.

Tyrion nodded, and as food was put on the table before him, he said. “They aren’t exactly known for their common sense, are the Starks. Two of them died at the Mad King’s court, for all that they knew how mad he was. Jaime told me.” Asha snorted, Tyrion idolised his older brother and from the few times she’d seen the Kingslayer she thought he was nothing more than a glorified bodyguard.

“I see. So, what do you think? Want to come with me to Pyke? See how the Ironborn handle their drink, and meet my uncle? I think you’d get along quite well with him.” Asha asked, trying to keep her voice level.

Tyrion moved to her then and said. “I would love to, but first we’ve got to do something about my father.”

Asha grinned. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, there’s a whore I know. I think she might finally come of us.” Tyrion replied and Asha laughed, she loved it when he thought like that.

 


	14. Concerns

**Lord Jon Arryn**

The realm was at peace now, though Jon knew that things were soon to grow worse, and he looked forward to it, he looked forward to the thrill that came from such a thing. Robert was dead and though he mourned for his foster-son, he did not much care about the legacy he had left behind. A host of reforms that had created something that Jon knew that no sane man could manage. Robert had held the realm together through sheer force of will, but whether his son would be able to handle everything, Jon did not know. The boy was capable that much was true, but he was not Robert, nor was he Maegor.

The small council had been summoned by the King, and so Jon was there, hiding the stomach problems that had started affecting him. The King spoke then. “Since my father’s death, I have had a look at the accounts, and have seen that there are some errors in the writing. Lord Baelish would care you explain the discrepancies?”

Jon looked at his prodigy, and waited for him to respond. He knew that the boy had been wavering over certain things that Jon long thought they’d dealt with. Eventually, Baelish replied. “I have not seen such discrepancies my King, but I shall be sure to address these issues as soon as I can.” Jon nodded his agreement, and the King seemed content with that answer, the fool.

The King then turned to Lord Rely and asked. “With the Florent mainline dead, I wish to address the issue of succession, and I would have your thoughts on the matter.”

Lord Renly hesitated and so Jon spoke. “My King, I would advise that the succession be decided through using the ordinance of 200 A.C. that King Daeron signed when he was deciding the Webber succession. This would mean that Ser Axell Florent would get the lands of the Florents and Brightwater Keep. Ser Axell was a man who served loyally under your father and was a good sheriff during his reign.”

Stannis as expected spoke up then. “The inheritance under the laws set by King Jaehaerys the Wise, which clearly state that daughters come before uncles. My wife and Lord Tarly’s wife are Lord Florent’s most clear heirs and therefore we are entitled to the inheritance. With Lord Tarly being the lord resident in the Reach it would make sense for him to get Brightwater Keep, whilst with my connections to the Stormlands, I feel that I would be better suited to getting the Florent lands on the border.”

Jon replied. “I can see why would think that, my lord. Yet, the precedent that would be set by that decision could certainly disrupt the balance of power within the realm. How would you handle the affairs of the lands you are given? How are you going to ensure that the people in those lands get fair justice when they are wronged by other tenants in the other lands of the lords of the Reach? You cannot expect the efficiency with which Dragonstone is run, my lord.”

Stannis grit his teeth. “My lord hand, you have not thought through the other legal precedents. Should you choose Axell Florent, you would give the man a mandate to achieve other things. Uncles might therefore consider their own rights above those of their nieces and nephews.” Jon knew what the threat was there, and he hid his laugh behind his cup of wine, Stannis never was the subtlest of people.

The King spoke then. “Uncle, I understand your concern, and I have spoken with the maesters of the citadel, and with Grand Maester Pycelle, and it has been decided that as of this council today, the Ordinance shall be passed granting Ser Axell Florent the lands and titles associated with Brightwater Keep, whilst yourself and Lord Tarly shall receive two hundred thousand dragons each in compensation from Ser Axell.”

 _Very cleverly played, Sire._ Jon thought of his namesake, the King had set Stannis up quite nicely there. Ensuring Stannis gave his legal arguments before replacing them with something more sincere and truthful. Stannis gritted his teeth then, bowed his head and said. “If that is your judgement, Sire. I accept.”

The King nodded, then said. “Now, as to the coronation, where do we stand on the arrangements.”

Jon spoke. “We have enough revenue to ensure that all the guests invited are able to be housed, clothed appropriately and then fed. We have ensured there is security within the throne room and the Great Sept, and we have ensured that there will not be any of the protests that were present during the naming ceremony.” Jon shivered for effect, the troubles at the King’s naming ceremony had been his doing. “The newly chosen High Septon has agreed to the amendments of the coronation oath that you requested, Sire, and has also brought the holy oil from the Starry Sept, as was done for your father.”

“Good, and what of the Braavosi, have they decided on their new Sealord?” the King asked.

The eunuch responded. “Yes, Sire, unfortunately they went with Naharis, and as such, they have started rearming their fleet in contravention of the treaty they signed with His Majesty King Robert. Naharis has begun a policy of armament as well, stating that Westeros’s interests are against Braavos. And that Westeros and Volantis are allied together.”

Jon snorted. “It seems that Naharis has given way to the typical Braavosi madness.” Of course, he would have, Jon hadn’t given him the funds so that he could be a smart Sealord. “I believe, Sire, that it would be best to ensure that the royal fleet patrols the seas, alongside the Redwyne fleet.” That would keep Stannis away from the court, and from ensure that when the black knight finally came things would be far more interesting.

“I agree.” The King replied.

* * *

 

**Princess Myrcella Baratheon**

Myrcella walked with Robb Stark-the real Robb Stark, not just someone she’d written to, but the actual person- through the hallways of the Red Keep, Ser Arys keeping his distance but still there, a guiding white shadow, that would come to help them if something should arise. Robb and his family had come south to her brother’s coronation, as well as to get the marriage done and dusted. Myrcella blinked slightly, and then said. “I trust things have been to your liking so far?”

Robb was tall, with auburn hair, and muscular, she could feel his biceps under her hand. “Things have been very much to my liking, Your Royal Highness, and my family are much obliged for the hospitality you have been showing us.”

Myrcella blushed slightly and said. “That was all Jon, I know he was happy that you could all attend. I had been told that there must always be a Stark in Winterfell, but all of your family has come south, if you do not mind me asking, who is it that remains in Winterfell?”

Robb laughed. “Ah yes, my great uncle Brandon who lives in the castle is the resident Stark now, he is somewhat hard of hearing and he grumbled a lot when we told him where we were going.”

Myrcella chuckled. “Oh? Why is that?” She had little experience of her own great uncles, they were often only in Casterly Rock and rarely ventured to King’s Landing, hells she’d not even met her own sainted grandsire, Lord Tywin though he had supposedly been at her naming day ceremony.

Robb blushed then. “I think it’s because he lives a relatively quiet life and only really comes out of his room for meal times and for wine, though now he has to manage the entire castle and also has to handle our Maester, and I think they have never really gotten along.”

“What is your maester like?” Myrcella asked, she’d only really had experience with Grand Maester Pycelle in her life and he was old and always smelt funny.

“Luwin’s a kind man, he’s smart and he knows what he’s talking about. He also knows how to back up what he’s saying with facts and evidence. Uncle Brandon tends to just want his word respected because he’s well the oldest.” Robb said laughing as he did so.

“That’s quite like what my uncle Stannis is like. He always gives us lectures about things that perhaps he shouldn’t, and when we challenge him he always blusters about how he’s older than us.” Myrcella said.

“Ah.” Robb said, they continued walking, they passed by the guards of the gold cloaks and the red cloaks stationed on either side of them, they all bowed their heads as they walked. She could tell Robb wanted to ask her a question by the way his muscles flexed and tensed under her hands, eventually he got round it and asked. “How do you feel about our impending nuptials?” It wasn’t the most succinct way to ask, but it was straight at least.

Myrcella thought over the question, then answered. “I am looking forward to it, and you?”

“Me also.” Robb replied they walked in silence for a time until they came to her chambers. “I bid you farewell till the evening feast, Princess.” Robb replied bowing and kissing her hand, before he turned and walked off. Myrcella opened the door and walked into her room.

She found Jon sat on her bed, reading through some book or the other, he wore a coronet, not the crown, that would wait till his coronation. “What are you doing here?” She demanded.

“Oh, hello brother, how are you? How was your visit to Rosby? Did Lord Rosby spit on you again?” Jon said. “Oh no, he was actually able to keep his food in his mouth this time, thank you for asking.” Jon looked up at her and grinned. “How was your day with Robb?”

“Where are Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime?” Myrcella asked diverting the question.

Jon laughed. “They’re coming this way now. And nice try. So, how did it go?” Myrcella swatted her brother and sighed.

“It was nice.” Myrcella said. “He’s very easy to talk to, and he’s kind and sweet.”

Jon made a gagging sound and when she hit him again, he laughed. “Well, that’s good. I knew he’d be good for you. Now, tell me, what else have you learned since he came here?”

Myrcella thought for a moment, she knew roughly what her brother was asking her, but not the entirety of it, so she took a guess. “I know that the Starks are honoured to be invited to the coronation and that Robb is looking forward to our wedding. I know that Lord Eddard and Lord Arryn aren’t seeing eye to eye on something and that fact is troubling Robb, and I also know that Lady Sansa is quite smitten with Tommen.”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “She is, is she? And how do you know this?”

Myrcella. “Because she told me so. She was interested in getting to know Tommen a  bit more and so I told her about his interests and since then they’ve been nearly inseparable. I think they would make a good marriage, especially as Tommen is Uncle Renly’s heir.” She knew that last part was an assumption on her part, but it made the most sense. Renly was never going to marry and have children.

Her brother nodded. “This is true. I shall need to consider that for later. Regardless, I shall leave you to your preparations. Enjoy the evening feast.” Her brother kissed her on the top of her head as he rose for the door.

“Wait,” she said. Jon stopped and looked at her. “You’re not going?”

Jon shook his head. “No, I have things I need to do, you and Mother shall act as my representatives.” With that her brother opened the door and left. Myrcella wondered what he was doing that was more important than this.

 


	15. Two Kings

**King Viserys III Targaryen**

The water moved underneath him, Viserys knew that the spell had worked, somehow. The horn had been blown before they’d departed, and the Dothraki and their horses had kept their composure, despite some of the horrid things they’d undergone. The Volanteene had kept to their end of the bargain and had moved their fleet for action, preparing to disrupt the Redwyne fleet if they were needed, if not they would attack Braavos, and ensure that the Westerosi were in trouble from that end. They’d gone passed the ruins of Valyria, and the eggs had stirred briefly as they had. The fires had burned, and gods alone knew what was going on there. Viserys swore to himself that when he had taken the throne he would lead an expedition to Valyria to reclaim it.

They’d had a bit of trouble navigating the waters of the Stepstones some pirates had come and tried to cause a stir, but thankfully, Euron Greyjoy’s ways and his words had persuaded the pirates to join with them. Viserys continued to marvel at how many people Euron Greyjoy knew and just how charming he could be. Viserys saw him for the rogue he was, but still, there was something in that, that made him a good commander and advisor. There’d been a bit of trouble as they’d crossed Estermont but Viserys had dispatched the ships that had come that way, and the soldiers had not sent out any letters or ravens. Things had gone well. They’d seen Storm’s End in the pale light, and Viserys had sworn he would raze that castle to the ground before all was said and done. Ships from Tarth had added themselves to their number and Lord Galladon had pledged fealty.

Truthfully, Viserys had been shocked at the lack of defence that had been put in place. He would have thought that the usurper would have at least tried to prevent their ships from coming. He had been led to expect that the usurper knew that they were coming. Evidently that was not the case, and if he were being honest, Viserys was somewhat disappointed, he had wanted a fight, not a walk over. He had told his commanders that they would take Dragonstone first, the place where he’d fled Westeros, and the place where his ancestor had first decided to conquer the seven kingdoms. It was fitting as far as he was concerned. He could see the isle from where he stood on the deck, dressed in armour, they’d made a journey that would usually take four moons in two, simply because of the horn. He marvelled at its power.

“Sire, there are ships ahead.” Said Ser Jorah.

“Prepare the men.” Viserys replied. Orders were barked, and the men formed up, the weapons were prepared. Viserys steeled himself, Dark Sister in his hand. He did not know if he would need to shed blood today, but he hoped so, he was getting tired of this waiting. The ships came into view flying the stag of Baratheon. They contained oars and men dressed in armour. Viserys looked at them, raised his sword, and then brought it down. The Dothraki archers unleashed their arrows across the fleet. Viserys watched as the arrows found their mark, some were killed, others were knocked back. They fired their own arrows. Viserys watched as the arrows soared passed him and laughed. “Again, with fire.” He commanded the order was given.

He watched as the arrows were lit and unleashed, the ships that caught fire did so abruptly leaving nothing more than burned out husks in their wake, the sound of men screaming was something that he found to be quite interesting.  There were different ways in which men could die screaming. The way when a man screamed high told you he was a child pleading for his mother. When a man screamed low, and throaty, he was a young man wondering why the gods had lied to him about battle. And then there was the third scream, of a man resigned to his death. “Enough.” Viserys commanded and the archers stopped. “Ram them.” Amidst, the burning and the rubble the ships moved into one another.

With his sword drawn, Viserys boarded one ship, watched as the men dressed in gold and black moved toward him. He cut them down, and watched their bodies fall into the sea, their armour dragging them down. Others were not wearing armour, but plain clothes, and they died easily. They should have been protected, a fear of drowning clearly prevented common sense from prevailing. Viserys continued on his way, swinging his sword, as more men came to defend their comrades, he cut them down as well. More and more they came and more and more they bled. Viserys sighed, there was nothing to their defence. He took a few hits after thinking that and he was glad, he did not want to rule over weaklings.

“Surrender. I am your rightful King. Surrender and I shall be merciful.” Viserys roared.

Nobody responded with their words, but with violence. Viserys sighed, he cut down someone with black hair and a beard, someone who looked like what he vaguely remembers the usurper looking like. He continued cutting down men and sighed. As the fighting dulled around him, his commanders found him. “Sire, we are approaching Dragonstone. What do you wish us to do about the Baratheons?”

Viserys considered this, he could show mercy and turn Baratheon against Baratheon. However much fun that would be, he seriously doubts the Baratheons will turn on one another, unlike his own family they had never done such a thing. He sighed, there was only one thing that could be done now. “I want them brought before me, I shall pass judgement and they shall die as the traitors they are.”

“All, Sire?”

“All.” Viserys said, the guard bowed and they landed on Dragonstone, he was home, but there was more blood that would need to be shed.

* * *

 

**King Jon I Baratheon**

He knelt before the altar of the Seven, as the High Septon-the first woman High Septon in memory- said the words. “Before the Father, grant him wisdom and truth, before the Mother grant him love for his subjects, before the Crone, grant him knowledge to rule wisely, before the Warrior grant him the power to defend us all, before the Maiden grant him the purity to produce a line that will keep Westeros safe for all years, and before the Stranger, let death come to his enemies.” The oil was poured over his head, and the water followed. Jon knelt, his eyes closed. He knew that this was an essential part of the coronation, and he knew that King Aegon the Dragon had adopted it from an Andal ritual, but by the gods was it uncomfortable, he’d been kneeling for some four hours already and his knees were aching. He said nothing, he thought of nothing after that, simply knelt with his eyes closed, then when he heard the bell ring, he got up. The High Septon looked at him and nodded. “His Majesty has been anointed with the Holy Oil and Water, he shall now progress on the walk as Hugor of the Hill did.” Jon walked out of the Great Sept, dressed in simple shirt and trousers. The Kingsguard accompanied him.  He walked down the steps, the eyes of the people on him. He stepped onto the road and started walking, the people watched in silence as he walked passed them. No doubt they were remembering this, some had been there for his father’s coronation, others were seeing this for the first time.

The streets were lined with people, they were all there, his people. He had been King for some three moons now, but it still felt like a dream, only now was it truly beginning to feel real, as if it had truly happened. He kept going, knowing that though his knees ached, the reward would be worth the pain he suffered. He walked through the streets, and nodded to the people, seeing who was there and who wasn’t knowing that those who weren’t there would likely think of some excuse for why they weren’t present. Jon shook his head and laughed slightly. The Tyrells had come at the last moment bringing their daughter with them. Margaery was nice and pretty but he’d been too busy with his work that he’d not actually spoken to her, and if he were being honest it seemed as if she preferred Quentyn to him, his friend who had grown taller and broader since they’d last met. Aegon’s High Hill came before him then. He walked up it, one step at a time until he was at the gates. “Who goes there?” the City Watch called out.

“It is I, Jon, of the House Baratheon, King of Westeros.” Jon replied.

“Do you promise to protect the city with everything within your body?” the City Watch asked.

Not for the first time, Jon wondered at the questions. “I do.” The gates opened and he walked in. He walked passed the watch and the courtiers, he walked into his rooms, changed into gold and black, then walked to the throne room, the doors opened. The High Septon was there as was his mother. He bowed before her, then ascended the throne.

The High Septon stood before him. “Who would claim the throne of Westeros?”

“I, Jon of the House Baratheon would claim the throne. I have sworn the seven oaths, I have sat before the Seven Gods and I have sworn my pledge to defend the realm. I would claim by right of blood and might. I have defeated those who would come and try to stake their right to the throne and I have brought before you all times of peace and plenty.” Jon replied, reciting the traditional oath that King Aegon had written during the time he had spent in the Starry Sept.

The High Septon nodded, and then said. “Before all those gathered here, I pronounce you Jon of the House Baratheon, to be sovereign before all. Let all men, women and children owe you their life and limb, their air, and their water and their hearth. Before the Seven and the Gods of Old, I declare you, King.” She placed the crown, a band of gold with crosses atop it, on his head. Then turned and said. “The King has been crowned. Long Live the King!”

The assembled nobles all replied with the same. “Long Live the King!” Then they came and swore their oaths, his mother came first, then Tommen, then Myrcella, then Uncle Renly, and Lord Arryn and the others. Uncle Stannis was out patrolling the Narrow Sea ensuring that no vagabonds came and took things. Therefore, his wife Lady Rhea came and swore fealty on his behalf. As the lords and ladies all came and said their vows, Jon wondered whether he would be able to meet Lady Margaery in private, and ask her what she wanted. He got the feeling she didn’t want to marry him, and so he wanted to make sure he knew what it was she wanted. He was King after all, and had the right to make what plans he could for his subjects.

The last of the oaths were said, and the High Septon stood down. Jon spoke from the throne, his sword in his hand, and the sceptre in the other. “I have been crowned King, and I promise to do all within my power to bring peace and harmony before Westeros, to ensure that we might do as we can to bring greater cohesion to our world.” The crowd cheered. Then the doors opened, and a man staggered in, he was dirty, he was bleeding and he staggered straight for the throne, where the Kingsguard stopped him.

“Your Majesty.” The man said.

Jon recognised the voice, but it was his aunt Rhea who said. “Ser Davos? What are you doing here?”

The Onion staggered and fell onto his knees. “There has been a great tragedy, my King. My lord Stannis and the Royal Fleet were patrolling the seas, when they came across a hostile fleet, there was a battle, the fleet was defeated. The enemy was commanded by Euron Greyjoy, they have taken Dragonstone.”

“And my children?” Rhea Florent asked.

Ser Davos looked at her, his face bruised and bloodied. “Dead, my lady.” Rhea Florent cried then, and Jon swallowed, shit.


	16. Husband And Wife

**Lady Catelyn Stark**

A pall of mourning hung over King’s Landing, as the people mourned the deaths of Lord Stannis Baratheon and his children. Lady Rhea had been beyond consolation, the loss of her children it seemed had truly crushed her. Catelyn had seen her staring into space on more than one occasion and she appeared listless and without hope on numerous occasions. Catelyn did not know what would happen to her, but she felt terribly sorry for her, and was grateful that her own family was safe. Indeed, there was one new member to the family, for Princess Myrcella and Robb had been married in the Great Sept, and then in the Godswood that was not truly a Godswood, before the entire court. The two of them seemed very happy which Catelyn was glad of.

“Lord Baelish is without, my lady.” Lady Jonelle Cerwyn who was her lady in waiting said.

Catelyn nodded. “Show him in.” Petyr had asked to meet with her today, for what she did not know, but she had little else to do, Ned was meeting with the King to discuss the situation at the wall, Robb and Myrcella were newlyweds and doing their own thing, whilst Sansa was with Prince Tommen, and being shown around. Arya was wandering around the Red Keep with Bran, and Rickon was asleep. It couldn’t hurt to meet with Petyr, and to ask him about that letter he had sent her. She’d shown it to Ned when he’d returned from the Wall, and he’d been most irate.

Petyr walked in, dressed in brown, his hair straight and short, his goatee-when did he become old enough to grow one- was curled. She kissed his cheek and then sat down. “My lady, thank you for agreeing to meet with me, you look lovely.”

Catelyn nodded. “Thank you, Petyr.” She paused, she felt slightly tense, she had met Lysa briefly whilst they had been here, and her sister had seemed ill at ease as if she wanted to say something but wasn’t. Lysa’s son Robert had been charming, and nothing like what Robb had described him as being, whether he had put on an act or not she did not know. “So, what did you wish to see me about?” She asked getting right to the point.

Petyr smiled. “How have you been finding King’s Landing, Cat? I have been meaning to speak with you, but things have been quite chaotic, since King Robert’s death and the coronation and of course now Euron Greyjoy being present in Dragonstone. So, tell me how have you found our capital?”

There was something about the way Petyr spoke, she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there was a movement and a hitch and she didn’t like it, it made her feel quite uncomfortable. “It is as I remember it from the one time we visited as children. The city is still big and sprawling, but different in that it has not been allowed to fall in to disrepair as it had during the reign of King Aerys. The court is of course different. All in all it has been a good visit.”

“And how have you found Lysa? She is much changed is she not, from the girl she was when you last saw her?” Petyr asked. There was something in his eyes, Catelyn did not like it. She’d seen that look once before, from someone when she’d been a girl. Uncle Brynden had thoroughly dealt with that young man then.

“She is changed, but of course I had expected that. It has been fifteen years since we were last with one another. I did not think she would be the same, I know that I am not the same. Why?” Catelyn asked.

Petyr chuckled softly, and Catelyn got the smell of mint in the air then. “Ah, Cat, you’re so trusting, it is quite sad truly. Lysa has changed, of course she has you are right, but she has also become something that is not right. She plots and schemes and she and the Queen Dowager are both close friends with one another. Do you know what the Queen is Cat? Do you know?”

Catelyn did not understand what Petyr was asking her and so she replied. “She is a good woman, a strong woman, a good Queen, and mother.” And Queen Dowager Cersei had been friendly to her as well, willing to talk about all sorts of things.

For some reason this was humorous to Petyr for he laughed again. “You see, the Queen puts on an act. She pretends to be kind and caring, but really she is nothing short of evil. She is preparing for something Cat, something sincere and dark. She guided her husband, King Robert toward doing things that have damaged the realm.” Cat was worried now, Petyr did not seem like his normal self. “You received my letter?”

Catelyn held up the letter in her hand. “I did. Petyr, I do not know why you think the things you do, but there is no truth in them. I only loved you as I did Edmure, as a brother, nothing more. There was nothing more between us.”

Petyr did not seem happy at that, he stood up. “You are wrong, I know it was you who came to me after that brute of a man hurt me. I know it was you who gave me such pleasure. You cried my name when I made you cum.”

Catelyn looked at Petyr and wondered whether he’d gone mad. “I did no such thing, Petyr. You were delirious from the pain and the milk of the poppy.”

“I know what happened.” Petyr insisted.

“Petyr, I think you should leave. Clearly you are upset, I think you should leave.” Catelyn said.

Petyr did not move, and for a moment Catelyn was terrified of what he might do, then his shoulders slumped and he turned and walked to the door. Before he left though, Petyr looked at her and said. “You do not know what you have gotten yourself in for. These Baratheons, they are not what they seem.” With that he left slamming the door behind him.

Catelyn stood there and stared at where Petyr had been, wondering what in the seven hells had just happened and whether she should tell Ned or not.

* * *

 

**Lord Eddard Stark**

Ned’s son had gotten married three days’ ago, his son and gooddaughter were celebrating their wedding by spending time at the dower land that the King had given Princess Myrcella in Brindlewood, an area rich in minerals. Ned had wondered at such generosity but had decided not to question it. He’d noticed that the King, unlike his father was more serious, perhaps that came from becoming King at fifteen and not twenty-one as Robert had been. He laughed less, and he did not smile as often, his brow was constantly furrowed, but there was not a bad bone in his body, he was serious but also hard working, Ned could appreciate that. Just as he could appreciate the struggles that the King was undoubtedly facing, being King with Dragonstone having fallen.

Ned watched as the King took his seat, his crown of gold atop his head, his sword strapped to his side. Ser Barristan Selmy looking resplendent in white and silver stood on one side of the King, whilst Ser Balon Swann stood on the other side. The King looked at him then and said. “Lord Stark, I understand that there are some concerns regarding the Wall that you wish to raise with me? Please do so, I have received word from Lord Commander Benjen Stark that these issues you bring to discuss are concerns he shares.”

Ned nodded, he and Benjen had spoken before he’d left the wall, trying to think of how to convince the King that the issues they were facing were serious without disbelief. After a lot of pondering they’d reached a solution. The truth, or a version of it. “Sire, I ventured to the Wall after executing a deserter of the Night’s Watch, he spoke of many things, most of which I did not believe, but there was one thing which I did find odd, he mentioned time and time again that there were forces gathering beyond the wall. I found this odd as the reports I had had of the wildlings was that they were distrustful of one another and had been so since the days of Raymun Redbeard’s death. Therefore, I knew something must have happened. I stopped at Last Hearth before arriving at the Wall and passed judgement over four wildlings who had fled over the wall. They too spoke of a wildling host, a great host massing under Mance Rayder a former brother of the Night’s Watch and its plans to come south. They mentioned that they were coming south, not to invade as had been done in the past, but to conquer.”

Ned knew that it was that last word that would interest the King, like any young man the King would be interested in fighting and defending his possessions, and as a King, and specifically as the son of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister, he would want to know who these foreign foes were. He was proven right, when the King said. “They have come to conquer, with a sizeable host. That must mean one thing. There is something that is forcing them out of their homes.” Ned nodded, he knew he needed to let the King think this through and not force his hand. “If they are being forced out of their homes then they are scared, and when people are scared they will do terrible things to feel secure.” The King looked right at him then. “Lord Eddard, you are Warden of the North, you are also Westerosi. My father trusted you and always spoke of your bravery and loyalty, I know I can count on you to stop the threat of the wildlings. I do not want them entering the northern lands of my kingdom.” Ned bowed his head. He had known the King would say this. “I also want you to find out what it is that is threatening these people. If needed I give you the right to countermand the independence of the Night’s Watch. I will give you the men needed to staff the walls, and I fully expect you to find the reasons beyond the wall. Is that clear?”

“Yes Your Majesty. Though I must caution you, the Night’s Watch will not appreciate their independence being revoked.” Ned said, though he suspected Benjen would not care.

The King snorted. “They are facing a threat that could potentially wipe out all of us, they can handle their independence being revoked. In fact, Pycelle.” The old maester came tottering out of somewhere and handed the King a quill and parchment. The King wrote down his orders and then handed it to Ned, who folded it and kept it in his pocket. “That right there will ensure that they cannot complain. It explains the laws that founded the Watch and why their orders are now being changed.” Ned nodded, he knew all about the Ordinance that King Brandon had passed.

Ned then asked. “Sire, if I might ask, how do you plan on handling Euron Greyjoy? With the Royal Fleet depleted, you cannot take Dragonstone through assault, and Greyjoy will not move from that island.”

The King sighed. “That is something I have considered, and I have decided to wait and see what Greyjoy does. I will rebuild the fleet, and in the meantime use the Redwyne ships to keep our coasts secure. Within a few months Greyjoy will need to leave due to starvation.”

Ned nodded, and though he did not wish to return south for a long time, he said. “If you feel the need to activate the Warden titles, know that the north will always be ready and willing to fight for you, Sire.”

The King nodded. “I know, and I thank you for that. Now enjoy your last few days here, and return to Winterfell and sort out the Wildlings.”

Ned got up, as did the King, he bowed before the man and then turned and walked out, feeling more confident than he had done in sometime. Perhaps things would be fine.


	17. Politics of Stag and Rose

**Lord Renly Baratheon**

The new year had been welcomed with a feast and a celebration at court, directed by Renly, the King had said that it would be foolish to hold such a celebration when Dragonstone remained under the control of Euron Greyjoy, and it had taken every argument that Renly had to convince him otherwise. The King had attended briefly, danced with Lady Margaery and with his mother and with Lady Desmera Redwyne and then retired for the night to do work. Renly was growing frustrated with his nephew on that front, they needed a marriage and they needed it quickly. Of course, with his nephew having summoned him at this late hour he felt perhaps he would be better able to convince his nephew of the need to marry when he was tired.

The hour was late, candles were burning in their place on the walls, the Kingsguard stood silently behind his nephew, Ser Barristan as Lord Commander was of course at the King’s right hand side, Ser Hugh Beesbury was to the King’s left hand side. Ser Arys had gone with Myrcella to Winterfell for a time, alongside fifty yellow cloaks, from the household guard. The King was wide awake, letters strewn across his table. He looked at Renly and said. “You know something Uncle, I think there is something more going on in this very city than perhaps my own father knew. I’ve just read through the accounts for the fifth time and there is a missing amount of some three hundred thousand dragons, from the fifteenth of the month before father died, to the third of this current month. I do not know where this money has gone and I would not have found it had I not seen the discrepancies in payments.”

Renly did not much care about the finances he had another bone to pick, but he did as he was asked and looked over the accounts. He read the numbers and frowned. “That can’t be right, the feast for the wedding cost some one hundred thousand dragons, I know because I arranged it. It couldn’t have cost fifty thousand dragons. Baelish has either entered that incorrectly or he has done it deliberately. And then there’s this.” He said pointing to another thing he’d noticed. “He cannot seriously believe that no one would notice that forty thousand dragons has gone blank. That is a foolish error on his part.”

The King nodded. “I agree. So why do you think that Lord Baelish is doing this? Has he gotten slower in his advancing age? Is he working for someone who is threatening him to rewrite the accounts, or has he simply been swindling money?”

Renly thought over this and remembered something he’d heard long ago. “Baelish has always been associated with strange figures, he rose because he was good with numbers, but I remember once very early on there was some sort of trouble over an account or two with Braavos and he got reprimanded by Robert. After that he seemed more on point than before, but he still had an air of suspicion. Robert regularly checked the books, but I would not be surprised if Baelish kept separate ones, one with the actual amount and one with the forged amount.”

“Why would he feel the need to forge the amount? I know that he might be swindling from me, but what else could there be? He would need to write down why this was money was going somewhere it wasn’t. Perhaps there are more perpetrators than this account leads us to believe. He would want to save his own skin and ensure that he is not left out to dry.” The King said, making a quick note of that.

Renly sensing that perhaps now would be the right time to bring up what he wanted to say said. “Sire, I think that should these concerns be justified, as I am sure they are, the Tyrells would be more than happy to aid you. They do possess some of the sharpest minds in the entirety of Westeros after all. They have been here since the coronation and have mentioned to me that you have not yet met with them to discuss various things amongst them the betrothal between yourself and Lady Margaery.” There he had said it, and now he waited to see what would happen.

The King was slow in replying, he continued scribbling down something on a piece of paper, and when he was done, he looked up at Renly and said. “The Tyrells have been here for some time that much is true, and yet other than offer me pointless compliments they have done nothing to justify me approaching them. Lord Mace quarrelled with Ser Oberyn not once but three times, and as such I have had to ensure they do not meet. Ser Loras, your love continues to insult Quentyn almost daily, and of course there is the fact that they try and shove different girls at me at almost every opportunity. Lady Margaery herself has not yet come to talk with me beyond brief conversation. I am a King not some love-struck puppy. I do not approach people.”

Renly sighed, his nephew reminded him of Robert at his most obstinate, and that was both a good thing but also a worrying concern. “Sire,” he said in his most placative voice. “You know that these women, they do not approach men, let alone Kings. They are there to be courted, to be won over. You are King, you have an advantage over any other man in the realm. Lady Margaery is shy by nature, you must win her over. Especially in these heated times.” That last was a lie, Margaery was anything but shy, but for some reason she’d preferred a snake over a King.

The King sighed. “I will do what I can, if it means you will stop bothering me about it.” Renly bowed, turned and left, smiling as he did so, he would need to convince Margaery now and that shouldn’t be hard.

* * *

 

**Lady Margaery Tyrell**

The year had changed, and an new one had been welcomed, and that was all well and good, but Margaery felt suffocated. She liked King’s Landing and loved being back at court, she’d been so very mad at Papa when he’d fallen out with King Robert, but here she was back again. She was technically betrothed to the new King, Jon, but they’d barely interacted in the months that she’d been in the capital. If she were being truthful with herself, Margaery knew that it wasn’t either one of theirs fault, the King was extremely busy ruling the Kingdom, and she had been at first a lady in waiting for the Princess helping her with her wedding preparations before moving toward something of an administrative role with the charities that the Queen Dowager ran. Of course neither her father or her grandmother saw it that way.  As this conversation seemed to prove.

“You need to stop hanging around the Martell boy, he is a firstborn son but he won’t be inheriting Sunspear, or even Dorne, instead he will simply be there as nothing more than an extra. Margaery, the King is the ultimate prize, you must keep your eye on the prize.” Her father, Lord Mace said, his belly shaking as he spoke.

“The King is not a piece of meat to be won, Father. He is a person.” Margaery replied.

“The King is the King, win him over to your side and you will be set for life, as his wife you can bring all the changes to Westeros that you always spoke of with Willas.” Her father said. “Remember that, you are as powerful as your husband, going for some son of a Dornishman, even if they are the Lord Paramount does nothing for you. Going for the King will make sure that everything you want can be achieved.” This was a different strategy from her father, usually he would be upfront about wanting to further the motives of the House and his own motives. She had to give him credit for that, perhaps grandmother had spoken to him.

Margaery was indeed quite surprised that her grandmother had not spoken about this matter, she would have expected Olenna Redwyne, the Queen of Thorns to have been incredibly outspoken on this matter. Instead it was Renly, her brother’s lover who spoke. “Your father is right, Margaery, my nephew the King is someone who knows how to work and how to work, but not how to enjoy himself. He is young, you both are. If you want to improve the kingdom you can only do that with the King at your side. Quentyn Martell might be smart, but that is not enough to ensure what you want gets done.”

Margaery could feel her anger rising. “How do you know that is the only thing I want? I want to be able to enjoy the company of my husband, I want to be able to share things with him, not just a bed. Yes I want to ensure the people of Westeros are better off, but that is not the only thing that matters to me.” She looked at her father then and said. “Does my happiness mean so little to you?” Her father looked as if she’d just told him that Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen were alive and living right there in the Red Keep.

That was when her grandmother spoke. “Margaery dear, be honest. You have spoken with the King thrice now, and in that time what have you truly spoken about?” Margaery suspected she knew what her grandmother was doing, but nonetheless she played along.

“We’ve spoken about nothing of substance, perhaps the odd comment on something at court, but nothing more than that.” Margaery said. “The King hasn’t had the time to discuss anything serious and whenever I see him, it is always at some formal function which does not necessitate the best time to discuss serious things.”

Her father spoke up then, his tone angry. “You are a woman meant to be married to a King, whether you  speak of anything of substance or not is irrelevant. You have to make sure the King likes you, and then he will listen to what you have to say. He is a King not a stupid Dornish boy.”

“And I am a Tyrell not some flower maid meant to do everything. We have both been busy, Quentyn has been friendly and easy to talk to, that is why I have spoken to him more than I have the King. When the King is free,” Margaery snapped back. “When we are both free, then perhaps we shall speak more, until then, I would appreciate it if you left me alone on this matter, father.”

Her father grumbled but walked out of the room, Renly and Loras looked at her and then walked after her father, no doubt to get him to calm down, leaving just her and her grandmother. Her grandmother looked at her and said. “You know, if you wish for the betrothal to be broken, you need only say. Your father will drop it in an instant.”

“I don’t want the betrothal broken, grandmother.” Margaery replied. “I’m not stupid I know that things will be better for everyone if I marry the King. It’s just that, I’m not sure how to approach him. He’s not anything like I’d thought he’d be. And Quentyn keeps telling me that the King is a simple man, but he seems so bold, so charismatic, so different to any of the other boys I’ve met, I just don’t know how to talk to him.”

Her grandmother put her hand on hers and said. “You go up to him and you say, what do you like? What are you interested in? He is the King he won’t come to you, and you are not some wilting wallflower who needs to be approached, dear. Go to him and ask him what he likes, and tell him what you like and go from there.”

“Will that work?” Margaery asked.

“It did with your grandfather, and my betrothed.” Grandmother said.

 

 


	18. Old and Young

**Lord Jon Arryn, Hand of the King**

Jon felt tired, for the first time he felt his seventy-one years, he felt the ache in his bones, the desire to sleep and not wake up. He was getting too old for this, for all of it. When the rebellion had been fought, he’d known Robert would name him Hand, and so he’d prepared himself mentally and physically for the demands of the job. Robert had not needed his help as much as Jon had first thought and so he’d developed the opposition to the reforms being implemented, though he was always careful to use other people as the face of the movement. Not even the Spider knew he was the reason why the rebellions against Robert had happened. Then Robert had died, and Jon had thought perhaps he would be allowed to retire to the Vale and spend sometime with his family, but no, the King had asked him to be his hand and so he had accepted, and now here he was. Seventy-one, and trying to compete with a court politics that seemed beyond him. His wife, was not happy either.

“I’m telling you Lysa, as far as we know Minisa is safe. There has been little sign that Euron Greyjoy has done anything to her. Varys’s spies have been there ensuring she’s been kept well fed and safe.” Jon said, not for the first time.

His wife however, was not happy with this. “She should not have been there in the first place. The moment Stannis was ordered out onto the seas, you should have summoned her back to King’s Landing. Robert has already returned to the Eyrie, why did you not demand that our daughter be brought back? Is she not worth as much as Robert?”

Jon wanted to say no, he had two daughters, but only one son. Robert was the future of the house, his heir, the most important thing that Jon had in this world, of course Robert was more valuable to him than his daughters. But he knew to say that would to continue this argument beyond its natural duration and so instead he said. “You know that is not true.” His wife snorted. His patience was beginning to thin. “Lysa had I asked for Minisa to return home once the King had given the order for Stannis to patrol the ships, the King, Lord Stannis and his wife would have all wondered if I was worried about something. You know how important it is that the Hand of the King support the King in his decisions. Regardless, I did not think Stannis would be beaten so easily. He had destroyed Euron Greyjoy at the Battle of Fair Isle.” His wife glared at him and so he said. “I know that was a mistake now, but at the time it seemed reasonable.”

“So, what is to happen now? Are we to simply wait as the King hesitates between action and inaction? He seems more concerned with courting that bitch Margaery Tyrell than actually figuring out what to do about Euron Greyjoy. The longer he spends procrastinating the more danger our daughter is in. You yourself told me what sort of man Euron Greyjoy is, how are we to know that he does not suddenly take a liking to Minisa?” His wife demanded.

Jon knew his temper was starting to get out of control. He needed to end this conversation and quickly before he said something that he would regret. “I can tell you this because the eunuch’s spies have told him that Euron Greyjoy does not even know who our daughter is. He holds Dragonstone and he enjoys the household, not the other accessories. And our daughter was, despite what we might want to think an accessory. She will not be harmed so long as she remains as such.” Jon said, and in that moment he was grateful that Minisa was as weak and as insipid as her mother she would not stand out. And to someone such as Euron Greyjoy if you didn’t stand out, you were of no interest.

His wife did not seem so satisfied. “I still think that if you suggested to the King that action was needed, he would step up everything that he was doing. He respects you and has listened to you on other things.” That was not true, but Jon saw no reason to correct his wife at that point. “I think you are not doing anything because you are too old and do not care. Your daughter is being held hostage by Euron Greyjoy, you command the support of many in King’s Landing, if you wanted to you could arrange an escape for her and nobody would complain.”

Jon knew all of that already, he did not need this foolish girl to tell him that. He also knew that doing anything of the sort would jeopardise everything he had worked for, and would ensure the King caught onto his plans. That was something he could not allow, but of course he could not tell his wife that, foolish girl that she was, she would likely tell her friends. Instead he said. “Such a thing would go behind the King’s back, and the King does not respond favourably to things being done without his knowledge.”

“Then tell him!” Lysa shouted. “You are his elder. You can command him!” Jon could feel the ache in his head getting bigger. He scrunched his eyes shut for a moment to fight the pain, as his stomach flared. “I knew you were too old and weak to do anything. I will talk to Petyr he will sort it out.”

Jon stepped forward and lurched. “You will do no such thing.” He wheezed.

“And are you truly going to stop me?” His wife sneered, a new side emerging. “You can barely move.”

Jon wheezed, his stomach was destroying itself. “What’s happening?”

There was fear in his wife’s voice then, as she ran out and called. “Help, somebody help!” He wondered if he’d underestimated her then.

* * *

 

**King Jon I Baratheon**

The heat was unbearable, they were all sweating, and he could feel drops of sweat falling from his brow onto his clothes, he’d need to change soon enough. He’d called this meeting of the small council after receiving word that there had been movement on Dragonstone, of course word had come from the eunuch shortly afterwards, therefore Jon was in two minds as to whether to act on it or not. Still, it would not hurt to discuss it with those meant to advise him. He looked at them and then asked. “The Hand of the King shall not be joining us today?”

“Unfortunately not, Sire, he is still abed with his illness.” Pycelle said. Jon Arryn had been arguing with his wife when he’d suffered some form of stomach shut down, what exactly it was Jon did not know, but he wondered if the old man was finally dying.

Deciding to not focus on that he said. “Very well, we shall continue without him. This morning, I received word that there had been movement from Dragonstone, Varys if you would give the council the information.”

The eunuch smelled of some sort of exotic perfume, Jon did not want to know where he’d been or why he smelled like that, as long as he did his duty. “My little birds report that thirty ships of Euron Greyjoy’s fleet left the harbour at Dragonstone. They did not set sail for somewhere such as Rook’s Rest due to the lack of suitable port there. Instead it is believed that they are to make for Saltpans, where they will attempt to take the town and establish a base there. The Dothraki led b Khal Drogo were seen to have left on those ships.”

Lord Renly spoke then. “I am surprised that these savages were able to operate effectively on ships. I thought they were terrified of water?”

“It seems that they have gotten over that fear. Either Euron Greyjoy has paid them enough to get over their fear, or they are here not for Greyjoy but for someone else.” Jon said. “Varys, did your spies happen to see either of the Targaryens?”

“They saw Daenerys Targaryen, Your Majesty. She is heavily pregnant and it seems that she will give birth soon enough, but they did not see Viserys Targaryen. Either he has died and my spies did not see it, or something else has happened and he is elsewhere.” The eunuch said.

“You think he has gone to meet with his father’s allies? Would your little birds not have picked up on this had he done so?” Renly asked, Jon had noticed how since their little conversation Renly had been less aggressive and more observant, Jon did not buy the act for a moment and indeed was quite convinced that his uncle was still plotting with that faggot who was his lover and perhaps master as well.

“My little birds see much but they do not see all. If Viserys Targaryen was there, then perhaps he has slipped away through some other means, he did grow up on Dragonstone after all. I would not be surprised if he knew of some way or means with which to get out without being seen.” The eunuch said.

Lord Redwyne spoke then. “I would say that once the ships are ready that you launch an attack on Dragonstone, Sire. Take the citadel and free those being held prisoner and you would have won a victory that Euron Greyjoy and whichever Targaryen he is fighting for cannot undo. Already we know that the propaganda that you have ordered spread has done them great harm.”

“And when will these ships be ready?” Jon asked, he had ordered the construction of several dozen dromonds and other such ships in preparation for an assault on Dragonstone, he knew such ships would be needed to countermand the strength of the fleet Greyjoy had assembled.

“Within the next moon, Your Majesty.” Redwyne said.

“Then I want them combat ready for that point.” Jon said.

Renly spoke then. “Sire, if the Greyjoys and Dothraki are heading toward Saltpans even if they do not take the city, they will have access to the forks of the Trident, allowing them to sail up as far as possible, if they have brought lesser boats, which knowing Euron Greyjoy they would have done. The Royal Army at Oldstones, has been prepared for combat since the last moon, perhaps ordering it to be there at the Saltpans would be a good idea.”

Ser Barristan who rarely spoke during council meetings spoke then. “The army would need to be stationed within the town itself. The Dothraki are not foolish, they know that they cannot take a city with walls as high as Saltpans has. They will move around it and plunder the land. The Royal Army must be prepared to face such a foe, and as such I do not think the army should be sent to Saltpans. We must first see what sort of tactics these savages use.”

Baelish spoke then, Jon had had the man watched since the flaws in the records had been noticed. “Sire, such a thing would mean the land is open to pillaging, that would be bad for the confidence that bankers, investors and the merchants have in the crown. It would also mean that there would be a lack of funds coming into the royal coffers, as your own father, King Robert stated that the pillaging of land would stop the Severed Ordinance from being in effect.”

“How much money would we lose?” Jon asked.

Baelish looked at his records then said. “Three hundred and sixty thousand dragons.”

An amount of that size was not losing, Jon sighed. “Send word to Ser Brynden tell him to prepare the army, to ride for Saltpans, they shall be there to greet the Dothraki with steel and fire.” Jon knew that this would be the first of many engagements and he supposed it needed to be done. He would not let savages hurt his kingdom.


	19. The Heir and the Lord

**Master Robb Stark**

His wife-man he could not get over how awesome that word was- sat at his side, her hand in his, they were in father’s solar, alongside father and mother and Bran. Bran had had another of his dreams, and from the way his brother was sat, Robb knew that things had been bad within the dream. His brother looked as if he’d run for leagues. Robb wondered why his brother was getting these dreams, and what they meant, he also wondered why he hadn’t gotten these dreams when both Arya and Rickon had in their own way mentioned similar dreams to what Bran had described. There was a sliver of jealousy there, tempered with relief. He didn’t really want these dreams; he was happy just having a connection to Greywind.

Father looked concerned when he spoke. “Can you repeat what you told me, Bran?”

Bran nodded, and in a small voice said. “I dreamed that I was Summer, and that I was running across the godswood, in the godswood sorry, and that as I ran there was a three eyed raven flying beside me. It kept cawing at me and originally I did not understand it, but as the dream continued I understood what it was saying. It kept telling me that I needed to go north of the wall, that I needed to see the things with eyes that were dead, and that were covered in blue. That they were coming and that when they did, if I were not beyond the wall, the wall would fall and everything would fall.” Bran was crying then. Mother took him into her arms. “This is the third time I’ve had this dream, the second time, was when it mentioned that a kraken was taking a stone of dragons, and that stags would die. The first time was when King Robert died.”

Robb looked at his father and he knew they were both thinking the same thing. Father had told him what he’d seen at the Wall, just as he’d told Mother. Mother was not sure what to believe, Robb knew, but Robb believed, he’d seen something deep in the crypts as a child that had convinced him immediately of what was happening. Mother spoke then. “Is there no way to stop these dreams?” She was looking at Luwin, and she looked deeply angry, as if it were Luwin’s fault.

The old maester shook his head. “I am afraid not, my lady. I have tried everything I know.” There was something in the maester’s voice that made Robb think for a moment that the man was perhaps not being honest.  That disappeared though almost immediately, what reason would Luwin have to lie after all?

“Perhaps I should go beyond the Wall.” Bran said then. “I do not want bad things to happen.”

“Nothing bad will happen to you, Brandon.” Mother said. At a nod from Father, she took Bran out of the room and back to his rooms.

Father looked at Luwin and the maester bowed and left. Leaving just the three of them. “Robb, what do you think?” Father asked, Robb knew his father was talking about more than just what was happening with Bran.

“Obviously, Bran cannot go beyond the wall, if he does that then he will never come back. Whoever this last greenseer is that is mentioned in the books, he is not to be trusted.” Robb replied firmly. “I don’t care what uncle Brandon says, I won’t let Bran go north of the wall. There are other ways of handling what is coming.”

Before Father could reply, Myrcella spoke. “Forgive me, my lord, but what is coming? You do not seem surprised by what is happening with Bran or with Arya or Rickon. The fact it is not happening to you Robb, or to Sansa seems to be more of a concern. Why?”

Robb hesitated, looking at his father for guidance on how to answer this question, this was the one thing he’d dreaded explaining to Myrcella. He’d been able to explain the strange noises that echoed throughout the castle at night, by explaining how old the castle was. He’d explained why they’d allowed Theon to return to Pyke despite the obvious conflict of interest with his uncle back, as a means of getting him in charge of the islands. This would be much harder. His father nodded, signalling that a version of the truth needed to be told. “You have heard of wargs, haven’t you?” His wife nodded, her eyes wide. “My siblings and I are wargs, we can dream as our wolves. But what Bran, Arya and Rickon are seeing is something else. In the old religion, it is called the sight, they can see the future, the past and the present. Arya and Rickon see it to a lesser extent their visions are never clear, but Bran’s, Bran’s have been accurate and clear. He saw your father’s death before it happened, though he did not know what it was, and he saw the fall of Dragonstone though he did not know what it was. And this, this latest vision, it means something terrible is coming.”

He expected Myrcella, raised in the south on the stories of chivalry and the south to laugh and call him mad, instead he was pleasantly surprised when she asked. “What? What could be worse than that?”

Robb looked at his father who again nodded, he swallowed and then said. “The very essence that created the wall and ensured that it could never rise again. Death itself, the white walkers.”

“I thought they were just stories?” Myrcella asked.

Father sighed. “They are much more than stories, they are very real, and they are coming. If Bran has seen them in his dream, then they are much closer than we thought originally. We must act now.”

“What do you wish for me to do, father?” Robb asked.

“Prepare, you might be required to ride north with me.” Father answered. “If not, then you will hold Winterfell.”

Robb nodded noting that his wife’s grip on his hand had tightened considerably.

* * *

 

**Lord Theon Greyjoy**

Theon despised the Iron Islands, compared to Winterfell it was a piece of shit in the middle of a sea of turd. The people were broken, the land was barren and the smell was just fucking awful. After his father’s failed rebellion, the Iron Fleet had been destroyed, the Ironborn had been prevented from sailing without writs from the King, and considering there were no maesters on the islands, per his father, the people simply sank into poverty. He was angry, angry at his father, angry at King Robert, angry at Eddard Stark, angry at everyone. He’d left Winterfell because he knew his usefulness to Stark was up and with his uncle’s return he didn’t want to be executed. Yet here he was, and there was fucking nothing he could do. It was infuriating. His own mother didn’t fucking recognise him.

His uncle seemed to be the one person who’d maintained some wealth, and that wasn’t due to any sort of embezzlement on his part, he’d simply stuck with the rules agreed after the end of his father’s failed rebellion. Lord Harlaw had always preferred trade to war, and though he’d lost sons during Balon Greyjoy’s rebellion he’d stuck to the trade. Half the other houses hadn’t and they’d either fallen into poverty or died as a result. Theon looked at his uncle then and said. “This is a right shit show I have inherited nuncle. How have things fallen this far? We used to be the dominant power in Westeros during the time of Harren the Black and now, now we are all facing extermination. Why?”

His uncle’s hair was grey, his eyes were sunken and his face was lined, the strain of ruling for the past sixteen years had clearly taken its toll on him. “Because we did not adapt. Every other Kingdom adapted after the Targaryens came to power. The Ironborn refused. We clung stubbornly to the way of the reaver, and we were punished for it. Before your father became Lord Reaper of Pyke, his father, Quellon Greyjoy had done much to bolster the standards of living in the isles, people paid not the iron price but the gold one. Trade was our currency, and for a time it seemed as though we would actually achieve something. Then Balon met your great uncle, and things went southwards. Balon stopped paying attention to the lessons his father was teaching him, and started reaving and raping. And then Quellon died, and Balon went unchecked.”

Theon sighed, there were days when he fucking hated his father, and other days where he wished he had actually gotten to know the bastard. “What was my father actually like? I don’t remember anything about him. He always seemed like some sort of distant figure, who was perpetually angry.” That was the honest truth, he had more memories about Maron and his lies and his fondness for Euron Crow’s Eye than he did his own father. What said about him he did not know. He was not sure he wanted to.

Lord Rodrik did not reply immediately, instead he ran a hand over his face. Eventually, he did reply and the words he said were not encouraging. “Balon was a proudful man, he did not appreciate the changes that your father was bringing, he did not appreciate that the Ironborn could not sustain an Empire during peacetime, or during a time when the Kingdoms were unified. He did not have smarts to ensure that there was division, he was not Euron, nor was he Maron. He was a soldier and that was all he was good at. He was a man who thought that books and words were useless. In short, he was set to ruin the islands from the moment he developed his own opinion.”

Theon felt as though there was a crushing weight pressing on his chest, preventing him from moving, breathing or doing anything else. His father sounded like a complete and utter fool. Why had that man been allowed to ascend the Seastone chair whatsoever? “When did my father marry my mother?” Theon asked thinking through this entire thing.

“In 269 A.C. when he was eighteen. Your brother Rodrik was born the next year. Indeed, before he died, your grandfather Quellon was actually planning on nominating Rodrik as his successor, not your father.” Lord Harlaw said, seeing Theon’s surprise the man continued. “Rodrik was not the man he became when your grandfather was alive, he was kind, considerate and he knew the importance of learning. He despised your father, and preferred the cultured court of your grandfather. It was only when Quellon died, that he adopted the warrior persona that you no doubt know. This was done to preserve his right to the Seastone chair, otherwise Rodrik would’ve suffered the fate that Maron wished for him. For Maron always was Euron’s creature.”

“How am I going to fix the islands?” Theon asked his uncle, hoping against hope that the man would have answers. “We are in debt, we are impoverished, and we have no ships worth anything. The lords of the islands are either dying, dead or moving away elsewhere. Where am I going to get the lords to fund the much needed improvements, where am I going to get the actual funds for anything? I see no way that I can manage this.”

“There is time, there is a war happening in the mainland, Saltpans fell to your uncle, the royal fleet is not as upscale as it once was. The crown would be foolish not to ask the Ironborn to come and aid them. I would recommend compiling the ships that exist, making them battle ready. Showing signs that you are ready to commit. I would also meet with the lords remaining and look through the books and ensure that everything is in order there. Wasteful spending needs to be cut, remove the serfs, make them pay for their freedom, and other such measures.” His uncle said.

Theon was not sure if any of those methods would work, but he nodded all the same and said. “I will try.”

 

 


	20. Waiting

**Lady Margaery Tyrell**

The court was prepared for war it seemed, the order had gone out from the King that all able-bodied men had to be ready to fight at a moment’s notice, therefore the gaiety and the celebratory mood that had pervaded through the court during the initial months of her stay had changed. Replaced with a serious and a more determined atmosphere. It was an interesting thing to observe for Margaery seeing men who had previously been whoring and drinking, and enjoying their youth now making themselves get into shape. The taverns had seen a drop-in business, according to her cousin Garth, and the whore houses had stopped serving by order of the King. The King was the person she was seeing now, well, they were walking together, and Margaery could not deny that she was nervous. The King was handsome, his black hair was cut short, he had the beginnings of a beard on his chin, and his eyes were alert and attentive.

“How are you finding King’s Landing, my lady? I apologise for not being able to walk with you before now, but there was much that needed to be done.” The King said.

They were walking arm in arm. “That is perfectly okay, Sire.” Margaery replied honestly, she had spoken to Quentyn before this and he’d given her an indication of how the King was, and what he preferred to talk about. “I am enjoying court, there are a lot of things to do here and a lot of people to meet and things to see. It has been a very enlightening experience.”

The King said nothing for a moment, they kept walking, Margaery was aware that Ser Barristan and Loras were walking behind them, not far enough to be of no use should something happen, but far enough to ensure that they were not intruding. Her brother had preened when he’d been handed a white cloak, though he grumbled about not being able to spend so much time with Rely now. The King broke the silence. “Is it very different to the events that happen at Highgarden? I have been told by Ser Loras that there is a lot of colour and celebration at Highgarden, and that there are jesters, dwarves, singing and merriment almost constantly, is this true?” The King sounded almost wistful and Margaery had to remind herself that the King had grown up firstly at court, and then from the age of eight at Oldstones, where he had been trained a warrior. It was only natural that he should wish for something he would have felt denied.

Choosing her words carefully, she said. “I think my brother might have exaggerated slightly.” Loras did not like the King, Margaery knew that, she knew he did not appreciate the deserved dressing down that the King had given him and Rely for their behaviour during the rebellion of the Florents. Still he served. “I think he was trying to get some ill-conceived point across to you Sire, and I ask that you forgive him for doing so.”

The King laughed and Margaery found that she liked the sound. “Ah, so he is still quite annoyed with me over the dressing down I gave him then is he?” Margaery nodded and the King laughed again, it was a deep bellowing laugh. “I thought as much. I would have thought being given a white cloak would have satisfied some of that disappointment or disapproval. After all, and I hope you do not mind me saying this, but your brother’s vanity is well known.”

Margaery laughed as well. “I agree, Sire. My brother is quite vain; he is a good swordsman but he does not think that often before he speaks or acts. It is a failing of his, that is quite common with my father. I think that is perhaps why they get on so well.” There had been times growing up where Margaery had been angry at her father for the preference he gave to her and Loras, she understood that she was his only daughter and therefore likely to get some preference, but Willas was far smarter than Loras or Garlan or her or even grandmother. He was a hard worker and he was father’s heir, but because of his injury he was not taken seriously by father.

It seemed as though the King could hear her thoughts, for he then asked her. “What is your brother, Ser Willas like? I have heard from your grandmother that he is quite smart, and I know he keeps in contact with Ser Oberyn. That is quite unusual in itself.”

“Willas does not hold Ser Oberyn responsible for the accident that cost him his freedom of movement with his leg. He knows that the horse was ill prepared and that he too was not ready to compete, that he only competed because he wished to impress father. But he is very smart, he is very well read and knows the political situation of the Reach far better than even my grandmother.” Margaery said.

The King stopped walking and so did she, he looked at her intently, and for a moment Margaery wondered why that was, had she said something wrong? “Your father is a hard man to please, is he?” Margaery was not sure what to say, she did not dislike father, but she did not like him as she did mother, she could not relate to him, and he could not relate to her beyond the fact she was his only daughter.

“I… he… he is a kind man and he wants the best for the family, but there are times where perhaps that is not always the thing he thinks it is.” Margaery answered truthfully, out the corner of her eye she could see Loras looking at her as if she’d gone mad.

The King nodded. “Tell me truthfully, do you wish to marry me? I know we are betrothed, but betrothals can be broken, if there is someone else you would rather wed, you need only tell me, Lady Margaery.”

Margaery felt a lump of panic develop, she took a breath, forced down the lump and replied. “I would like to get to know you before making any decision, Sire.”

The King nodded. “As would I.” they kept walking and Margaery wondered whether that would be possible with everything that was happening.

* * *

 

**Lord Eddard Stark**

They had received word from Benjen, the wildlings had been sighted somewhere north of the wall, though the letter was no doubt old, Ned had summoned the banners, Bolton, Karstark, Glover, Mormont, the mountain clans and Umber, some ten thousand men in total had come to Winterfell or met them on the way to Castle Black. Ned had informed the lords of what they were going to fight and what they could expect, surprisingly only Bolton had not been surprised and Ned wondered at that, but for now there was no time to consider other implications of such a thing. They had arrived at Castle Black some three days ago, and there had been limited movement from the wildlings beyond the wall, there had been some skirmishes behind it with a force led by a big bear of a man, whose name had been Tormund. That host and that man had been killed, but there were more beyond the wall, and they were all waiting for them and whatever else might come.

They were all gathered in the lord’s solar in Castle Black, Benjen had grown an even longer beard, and his hair was a straggly mess, he looked as if he’d seen several ghosts, truth be told, as he looked around the room, Ned thought they all had. He could not blame them though, after all the sight of bodies rising due to not being burned, would scar anyone. Ned eventually cleared his throat and spoke. “We know that the true threat is still out there, the dead are being controlled by something or someone and we need more answers. Of course the scouting party you sent out beyond the wall has not yet returned, Lord Commander and it would be foolish in this current climate to send more men out there looking for them. Therefore, we are at an impasse. We cannot just stand here and do nothing, but we also cannot risk losing more lives. What we need is information about what we are facing right now.” He gestured loosely outside. “We know there is a wildling host of great size approaching us. We know that the party we fought under Tormund Giantsbane was just the beginning. That there are more than fifty thousand of them all gathered under Mance Rayder. The King was explicit in his command, we cannot allow them to gather beyond the wall regardless of who or what they bring with them. For whoever is forcing them to flee will no doubt be following them.”

“So, what are we to do, my lord?” Lord Umber asked. “Are we to merely sit here waiting for the fight to come to us? Are we to sit here and twiddle our thumbs whilst others fight and die out there beyond the wall? There are dead things coming to life, and whilst I agree that we need to know more about them. The old maester is half blind and his assistants have not found anything, therefore how are we to find out anything through traditional means? We must find out information through capturing someone who would know where this whole thing is going. And I think the only people who would do that are those with the Weeper.”

Benjen answered that. “You leave Castle Black or any of the castles along the wall, to try and find the Weeper and his men and you will not return. That man does not care who is who, or who fights for who, he will gut you and your entire army.”

The Greatjon seemed to disbelieve this. “How can one man enact such a brutal thing over a host of one thousand two hundred men? What is he some sort of God?” the Greatjon was a man who had grown up fighting wildlings whenever they crossed the wall, he and the entire House Umber made their living killing wildlings and ensuring that they did not affect the fur trade that the north had going with Lorath and other free cities.

“The land beyond the wall is different to anything any of you are used to, my lord. It is at turns rugged, desert and barren, and at others, filled with plenty and filled with greenery and snow. The Weeper knows this land and he knows precisely how to use it to his advantage, he would make five men seem like five hundred men by using the land if needed. We need to stay put within the confines of our own needs. We cannot simply branch out because we have not found an immediate solution to the problem facing us.”

The Greatjon snorted, but remained quiet, indeed it was Lord Bolton who spoke in his soft voice. “I think that perhaps we are agreed that the time for direct action has not yet come. To leave the wall for the lands beyond it right now, with one hundred thousand wildlings marching toward us would be madness. We can and should use the wall as a natural defence with which to break the wildlings. They cannot break through a six hundred foot structure of ice and we now know how they will try to get over it. We can be prepared.”

“Lord Bolton is correct. We do not have the means to go off looking for things now, we must consolidate what we have here, and ensure that it does not stray too far from what we are expecting.” Ned said.

As Benjen went to speak, a horn sounded. “Awhooooo.” Riders returning. Benjen got up. Then the horn sounded again. “Awhooooo.” Wildlings, they all got up and walked out of the solar down the steps and into the courtyard, where Bowen Marsh the steward said.

“Wildlings, they’ve brought more.” Ned joined his brother in the winch cage and as they got off onto the wall, Ned saw something he thought he’d never see. There were hordes of wildlings moving as one slow monstrosity, moving and shaking and quivering, and big blurs moving with them.

Benjen swore. “Giants, they brought fucking giants.”


	21. Shit Creek

****

**King Jon I Baratheon**

The weather was shifting between hot and blistering and wet and cold. It was almost as if there was some sort of changing in the season and the world could not decide what it wanted to be. Today it was bloody cold, he was wearing furs, as were most of the other members of the council. Jon Arryn was still ill, it seemed as though he would fade from this world, but not without a struggle. For the moment Jon did not name a new hand he kept the duties of the hand to himself, and ensured that it was all done, Lancel served as his equerry, Quentyn served as another equerry. He took a breath, looked down at his notes and then spoke.

“There has been word from Oldstones, it appears that due to some cowardice on the part of Ser Cox, the Dothraki now hold Saltpans and with it they have a base from which to stage their operations. There was some sort of scuffle between the royal army and the Dothraki outriders. The outriders were killed, but they did manage to capture one such Dothraki member who spoke of some of what his leader was planning. The Dothraki it appears are going to stage a raiding campaign of the Riverlands to cause tensions between the Riverlords. Indeed, it does seem as if they are attempting to bait me into acting now. I have ordered Ser Brynden to take stock of what has come before him and to make the decision as he sees fit. I would hear from you all on your thoughts. Varys, has there been word from your sources within the Riverlands?” Jon suspected there was more to this, Viserys Targaryen was still at large, and Jon did not know what to make of that.

The eunuch did not reply immediately, but when he did his voice was firm and committed. “Sire, my little birds report that the Brackens are considering leaning toward yourself, whilst the Blackwoods are now considering siding with Viserys Targaryen due to his Blackwood heritage and the fact that he is unwed and Lord Blackwood has a daughter he wishes to marry off. As for other Riverlords, the Freys continue to rely on Lord Walder though he is nearing death with every passing breath. He has said to his sons that he shall remain neutral in any conflict that comes into the Riverlands. The clear majority of Riverlords will not rise for Viserys due to the presence of the Dothraki. The Reach is more of a concern, as far as I am concerned Sire.”

“The Tyrells have their bannermen in hand.” Renly said.

Jon held up a hand and said. “Let Lord Varys speak, uncle.” Jon looked at the eunuch and said. “Go on.”

The eunuch continued. “Whilst, as Lord Renly says the Tyrells have a stronger hold on their bannermen than they perhaps did during the rebellion that your father fought, Sire, they are still not completely in control. The Osgreys, the Peakes, the cadet branches of the Florent family, the Appletons, the Cockshaws and others are considering siding with Viserys, for one reason or another, many of them feel that they can gain greater positions of power within the Reach if they do so.”

“And what of the cadet branches of the Tyrells?” Jon asked, he had spoken with Lady Margaery about her extended family and the feeling he had gotten from her was that some of them were not happy with her father’s leadership and wished for a change.

Renly interrupted once more. “I do not think such a thing is a valid question. The Tyrell family is large, yes that is true, but they have always shared the same interest as the mainline.”

Maester Pycelle an old doddering fool, spoke. “That is technically incorrect. During the Dance of Dragons Ser Luthor Tyrell, great-uncle of the Lord of Highgarden at the time sided with the blacks, whilst his nephew Ser Matthos Tyrell sided with the greens. And during the Blackfyre rebellion, the first one, Lord Leo fought for King Daeron, whilst his cousin Ser Michael fought for the Black Dragon. Whilst there might not be as inspiring a figure in the cadet branches of the Tyrells today, there are still those who might consider removing the mainline for their own claim.”

Renly looked frustrated, but Jon had decided he’d had enough of his uncle’s protestations. “In regards to Viserys Targaryen himself, have your sources managed to find him yet?” The fact the eunuch had not found the man who was the greatest threat to Jon’s throne was somewhat concerning.

“I have, Sire. It seems that whilst the Dothraki departed to Saltpans, the pretender and the unsullied have set down for Massey’s Hook, how they got passed the guards on the seas I do not know.” The eunuch said.

Jon looked at his master of ships then who was quick to say. “None of the men I spoke to reported anything of the sort. They did not see anyone moving and they would have acted under your orders if they had.”

“Then one must wonder how they got out and toward Massey’s Hook. Being there places them in an interesting direction. They will either threaten Storm’s End or they shall go for King’s Landing through an indirect route.” Jon said.

“Both of which would be very bad for the economy, Sire. Confidence is currently tottering between high and low, and one more hit would do bad things to it.” Baelish said.

Jon did not trust Baelish, but he had looked through the accounts and he knew roughly where the fault lines where. And so that was why he said. “Very well, I shall not sit here and wait for something to happen. Pycelle send word to the Wardens of the South, West and East, send word to the Lord Paramounts and every lord in the realm. Tell them their King summons them to do their duty. We shall fight this menace and send it back into the sea.”

* * *

 

**Master Robb Stark**

Robb stood atop the wall and watched as a monster of men and giants-actual fucking giants- swirled below. They came and they charged. When they got close enough he drew his bow and unleashed an arrow. Fire hit them, the logic being that if the fire hit them and burned them alive they would not be able to wake up as a dead thing. So far it seemed to be working. He’d counted twelve dead  by his own hand and they hadn’t gotten back up. His hands were shaking though, he couldn’t believe that there were actual giants around. Greywind growled by his side and he looked down at his direwolf. Greywind looked up at him and then down at the ground below. Robb got another arrow with oil on it, nodded to his squire-it felt having a squire- and watched as flames were placed on it, he drew and then released. He watched as the arrow charted a course downward and then hit someone down below.

His father joined him, Lord Eddard had a bow in his hands also. “You okay?” his father asked. Robb nodded, and then his father said. “You are needed down by the western gate, I shall hold this place.” Robb nodded again and took the cage down to the ground. There he was greeted by Bowen Marsh.

“Master Stark, your presence is requested at the western gate, follow me.” Robb did as he was asked, following the thin and scrawny steward to where there were other northmen holding the walls of the gate against a probe by wildlings. His uncle was there.

“Robb, do you think you could hold command here. We need more men on the eastern side.” Robb nodded and so his uncle left him. Robb was quickly appraised of the situation. There were some thirty wildlings on the other side of the gate with a battering ram they’d made out of wood, and they were trying desperately to break through. Robb had some thirty men here, ten holding the walls and another ten holding pitches of boiling water on the wall to drop on the wildlings. Ten other men looked to him then.

“You have bows?” He asked. They nodded. “Get them ready.” Robb knew that he needed to lure the wildlings into a false sense of security he would not be able to do that if they were still trying to batter down the doors. “Knock.” The archers did as he commanded. “Draw.”, he nodded to the men holding down the doors, they let go and the wildlings stumbled in. “Loose.” Arrows came flying passed him and hit the wildlings, some missed, and those that missed meant those wildlings came charging weapons drawn. Robb drew his own sword and cut down two before a third came and managed to cut him before Greywind ate the man.

The doors were open and wildlings noted that and came streaming through. Arrows took care of most of them, but those who survived that onslaught were taken care of by the men with their weapons. And by Greywind. Robb swung his sword numerous times, cutting and culling. It was a bit of a madhouse if he were being truthful, it seemed as though things were going backwards and forwards, as if there was no end to this onslaught of fools. The Wildlings had to know that they could not win. He heard a roar from somewhere nearby, and almost shat himself when he saw a Giant looking near him only to fall covered in arrows, bleeding onto the floor. The chaos continued, Robb kept his wits about him.

The wildlings were brave he’d give them that, he didn’t know of any other type of man who would keep charging through one breach after another to fight and die, and be burned alive. They must surely know that they would not survive this fight. The wall, and the number of trained men on Robb’s side would have meant that they would never survive. Yet they still kept coming charging, shouting, yelling. There were giants being felled. You could tell when a giant was killed because the ground shook beneath your feet. That was something Robb knew he’d likely never get over. Giants were real, so very fucking real. He wasn’t sure why that surprised him so much, after he’d seen the thing in the crypts when he was young, he should’ve known that the giants were very much real. After learning that the dead could be brought to live, he should’ve known giants were real, and yet he was still somewhat surprised.

The fighting continued, more people were slain, a few of the black brothers died, and were immediately dragged away to be burned. A few northmen died also and had the same fate given to them. There was unity in how they handled the dead, the wildlings were burned right there and then when they fell, there would be no honourable burial for them. Just a simple burning, it was crude, but effective. And it was also a complete contrast to what they were doing with their own dead. Almost as if they did not think the Wildlings were human. He shook that thought out, there was no point dwelling on that now. As the hours ticked by, the fighting gradually ceased, until they were mainly just taking bodies to be burned.

Father came and found him as the sun was setting, he was covered in snow and dirt. “You are well?” his father asked simply.

“I am. Are you?” Robb replied.

“I am.” Father said. Together they walked to the hall for food. “That was a smart thing you did by opening the gates, we got rid of more wildlings that way.”

Robb blushed slightly at the compliment. “It made sense, I saw no reason for good men to expend so much energy when we could simply slaughter them in a penned in cage.”

His father grimaced but nodded, they got to the hall and the doors opened. Just as they were about to enter, there was a deafening roar. They looked at one another and together they said. “Giant.”


	22. Marriage and War

**Queen Margaery Baratheon**

Margaery had married her King the day before, when the sun had shone and the weather had been sweltering hot. She had dressed in green and gold, the colours of her house, and had smiled when she’d seen the King-Jon’s- jaw drop open. She’d felt beautiful as she’d walked toward him. They’d said their vows in the Great Sept, and then they’d feasted, and celebrated the marriage before the bedding. The bedding itself was, and here she blushed slightly, the bedding had been very interesting. They’d both learned things about one another last night that she was more than eager to learn more about right now. However, she knew as her husband stirred that he would have more things to do. She sighed, her husband was riding off to war today, to fight the Dothraki and the Targaryens.

“Morning.” Jon said. She smiled, his hair was ruffled and his voice was slightly hoarse.

“Morning.” She replied. She leaned over and kissed him on the lips revelling in the feel of being able to do that. “Did you sleep well?” She asked.

Jon grinned. “I did. Did you?” He pulled her closer to him, so that her head was resting on his chest.

“I did. I had the nicest dream.” Margaery said.

“Oh?” Jon replied.

“I dreamt that there was a strong knight waiting for me, and that I had to hurry home to him.” Margaery said. Smiling slightly as Jon tightened his hold on her.

“And what did this man look like?” her husband asked.

She sat up, and ran her hands over his chest. “He was well muscled, he had black hair and the nicest smile I’ve ever seen. And he smelled lovely.”

“He sounds like an arse.” Her husband quipped. Margaery smiled and leaned over and kissed him, he replied back, and when they broke apart, her husband sighed. “I have to get ready.” Margaery nodded and they both got up, a bath was run for them both, and as they sat inside it, her husband spoke once more. “You don’t think the others will be up too late do you? It was quite a night that we had.”

Margaery grinned. “I think my father will be up quite quickly, I know he wants to take advantage of the ride toward the Riverlands to make sure that you know just how much of a loyal servant of the crown he is.” She huffed then, her father had been very surprised but also happy when the King had announced that he wished to marry her before he rode off to war.

Jon smiled. “You think he will try and extol the virtues of why he should replace Jon Arryn as hand, despite the fact that the man is not even dead yet?” Margery nodded, Jon Arryn had been ill for some time now, he would murmur something or the other, according to Jon, but would never actually speak. It seemed that speech had been robbed from him. Yet he refused to die, much to her father’s consternation.

“I think that my father now wants to finish the grand plan that his own father had. He has me as Queen, now he wants to own the badge of handship and then he thinks he will be able to dictate policy in a more favourable southern light. That is why he’s asked Garlan to ride out with some ten thousand men from the Reach whilst entrusting my uncle Garth with the remainder of the Reach host to keep the Florent cadet branches from rebelling.” Margery replied.

As they got changed, Jon pulled her close and asked. “And what do you think I should do? Should I name your father as my hand, my lady wife, or not?”

 Margaery turned and looked at her husband. “I think that if you name my father hand, he will be happy but the Kingdom will suffer. You are a smart man, Jon, you have been trained from birth to rule, and you have kept the kingdom going despite the chaos it is currently in. I do not think you and my father will get on as Hand. Appoint him to some other position but not the handship.”

“Do you think then that I should keep that position vacant?” Jon asked. Margaery nodded, she appreciated that her husband trusted her judgement. If this had been any other man he would have immediately raised some concern over her lack of loyalty to her father, even if it meant she was showing more loyalty to her husband.

“I think that keeping it vacant would be the best strategy possible. I do not think you should name anyone as Hand whilst Jon Arryn is alive, for that would then make it seem as though you had a hand in the current hand’s illness.” Margaery replied. “Even if as you suspect other forces had a hand in his illness.” Jon nodded, they both knew who she referred to, she’d suspected the same person he did for some time.

“Very well.” The King replied, as the door opened and his equerries, Lancel Lannister and Quentyn-who she smiled at- walked in to help him dress into his armour. As they did so, Jon said. “You will serve as regent whilst I am away at war. My Mother will help you as well, she knows some of the ins and outs better than I do. But the remainder of the council will be yours to command.”

Margaery bowed her head. “Thank you, Jon, you honour me.” As the last strap of armour was put on, her husband turned, he glimmered like a ruby in his black armour.

“It is the only common sense thing to do. You are my wife, and my Queen. When I am not here, you shall rule in my name.” he took her hands then and added. “You are me and I am you.” They kissed briefly, then together they walked to the throne room where her husband gave a rousing speech.

* * *

 

**Lord Theon Greyjoy**

The cunts kept coming. They stormed and they roared and they fought. Theon fought with a sword, his uncle who he had never fought could fight, fought with a hammer, and the other members of the household and of House Harlaw fought alongside him. Some idiot had staged a rebellion, declaring that Theon was not the rightful Lord of the Iron Islands, that that title belonged to his uncle Euron, who was on the other end of the kingdom in Dragonstone. Surprisingly, the rebel had picked up a lot of support, that suggested to Theon that more people were rebelling due to the declining economic situation rather than any loyalty to Euron Crow’s Eye. Still it was a bloody pain. Theon swung his sword and watched another man duck and dodge, he was cut and damaged, his armour had been burned by the rebels before he’d even known what the hell was going on.

He'd been a bit foolish travelling to Ten Towers whilst leaving his armour in Pyke, he should have known these idiots would not let him travel in peace. He kept thinking these people actually wanted to change and not just stick to the same old traditions that had done nothing more than harm them. It seemed that he was wrong. He swung and missed and took another hit. He wore boiled leather that his uncle had thrown him before they fight had begun. Theon knew that perhaps he should try speaking to these people, but he had no desire to. They were rebels and they would die as such.

As that thought echoed in his head, he wondered what it said about him as a person, or perhaps a lord. He’d been Lord of the Iron Isles for perhaps three moons, maybe more, officially, and already there was a revolt. Yes, it might have been inspired by things beyond his control, but really as things continued to grow, would there not be times when he would have to seriously think on just what the hell he would do. He had looked through the books of the Iron Islands, they were broke. They had little money to truly do anything. His uncle had tried his hardest to keep things on an even keel but the lords of the isles had refused to listen and now, now they were paying the price. There was so much he wished to do, so many things he had to do and he did not know if he would get to do them.

Theon took a blow to the face and fell to the ground. It seemed the person who had struck him thought that he was dead, for they left him alone and he struggled to get up. As he stared at the sky, his brain raged through different scenarios. Mainly the outcome if he won. For he knew he could not think of death now. He had waited his entire life for the chance to lead to, show that the Islands could adopt and change. If he simply accepted that things were as they were, then he might as well die now. He got up, his sword propping him up. He looked around and sighed. The fighting was furious, there were men killing those who merely moments before had been their friends. He shook his head and joined the fray once more.

Another smack to the chest and blood came out of his mouth. They did not fight with helms on did the Ironborn and as he wanted to be respected, neither did he. Yet as he took another blow and ducked to avoid his head getting smashed in, he started thinking that perhaps doing that would not be such a bad idea. He took a third blow and staggered forward, his sword was somewhere, but he pulled out a dagger and plunged it into the man’s neck. He staggered backward and moved on. He could tell that his body was going to cave at some point, someone was going to do something and then he would be finished. Briefly he recognised his uncle’s body staring up at him but not seeing him. his uncle was dead. That meant his old aunt was the Lady of Ten Towers, but she was without children and therefore his mother and really he was the new Lord of Ten Towers. He would need to write to the King about that.

He laughed then, the King? What would the King care about a desolate pile of rocks? That was how the Greenlanders saw the islands. He knew that from how the Starks had talked about his home. Oh they’d been polite and all but he had seen it in their eyes whenever the islands got mentioned. They held severe contempt for the islands and for the Ironborn and that was something he couldn’t forget. The King listened to the Starks, but just like his father he did not listen to the ironborn. No King had, not since Harren the Black. They were always left to fend for themselves. Always left to fend for themselves. Perhaps that was why his father had rebelled. Or perhaps his father was an idiot. Theon sighed, things were just too complicated to really truly make sense of anymore. He swung and the enemy died. This was pointless killing his own people for what?

He did not know. He kept fighting, becau.se his body did not know what else to do. What else could a man such as Theon Greyjoy do? He’d been born to fight, born to kill, born to lose, he could not live and win. That thought did not enter his mind. He had already killed many of his own people, and for something that he did not quite understand. His uncle had a lot of explaining to do. If the man ever bothered to show up. Theon Greyjoy continued fighting until the enemy had thrown down their weapons and surrendered. Then they gave the dead to the sea.

 


	23. Fight or Flight

**Lord Renly Baratheon**

They had marched from Storm’s End, some eight thousand strong, the men had assembled surprisingly quickly, considering the time it had taken him to ride from the capital to Storm’s End. Yet when he had arrived, he’d found the lords of the Stormlands marshalling toward him. He supposed it helped that Viserys Targaryen hadn’t seemingly moved from Massey’s Hook that he had remained at Stonedance, supposedly waiting for them to come to him. Renly was deeply suspicious of that, and so had stuck his men in the gap between them. He’d called for a council and was relieved that his nephew had allowed Loras to come with him. He had forgotten how much he despised his own bannermen. The King had also sent Tommen with him as his squire, no doubt as a preparation for when Renly eventually croaked it.

Renly took a look around the tent and saw burly men, who looked as though they wanted to eat him, they did not seem happy with him. He took a breath and then said. “We know that Viserys Targaryen sits in Stonedance with his Unsullied and the traitors who have decided to side with him. In total his support is somewhere near eleven thousand men, no more, no less. However, he has the terrain on his side, the hook is notoriously difficult to fight in and we risk being bogged down in marshes and other such terrain. Consequently, I would hear your views on what we should do next, my lords.” Renly finished and looked around, nobody spoke for a moment though there were some lords glowering at him including Galladon Tarth, Lord of Tarth who had brought his daughter Brienne the Maid with him, she was his heir, and Renly was half tempted to marry her to bring her inheritance into the fold and to perhaps spite his nephew.

It was Lord Grandison, who had fought for the Targaryens during the rebellion, before bending the knee to Robert, who spoke. “My lord, I do not think we should directly engage with Viserys Targaryen’s host. Yes he has the unsullied, but that is not what I am concerned about. I believe that there are elements at play here that might come and bite us in the rear if we are not careful. For example, there are only eight thousand men here, despite the Warden titles having been activated. The marcher lords with the exception of my lord of Blackhaven here have not come, they have remained in their own holdfasts. One must wonder at that, one must also consider that perhaps there might be some sort of trap being laid here.”

Lord Dondarrion, who was married to Allyria Dayne, which was a shame considering how handsome he was, spoke up then. “I agree with Lord Grandison, the lords of the marches are not ones who would normally ignore the chance to fight, and yet that is what they have done. You have gotten more support from the lords of the Rainwood including those who had previously supported your brother Stannis’s pretentions to the Stormlands. Consequently, I think one must take into consideration the belief that they are likely going to be considering siding with Viserys Targaryen. Therefore I would advise sending in a small host to bait Viserys Targaryen out of Stonedance, directly challenge his pride and he will risk losing face before the Lords of Stonedance and Sharp Point if he refuses to engage.”

“And who will command this vanguard?” Renly asked, though he already knew who he would give the ‘honour’ of commanding such a thing. Ser Jon Penrose a proud man and the heir to Parchments, spoke up then.

“I will, my lord, if it suits you. I believe that the men of Parchments are best suited for this sort of fighting. We know the best within which we can strike hard and fast. The land will need to be burned, and the King has given you leave to engage as best as you think possible.”

This was good, Renly despised Ser Jon, the man was an opportunist who had supported Stannis when he had petitioned Robert for Storm’s End, arguing that as a child Renly could not keep control of so many rowdy lords. Then there had been the time when he had switched to siding with Renly when the question of the border dispute with Mistwood had emerged, and Renly out of favour with Ser Cortnay had agreed to lend his ear to Penrose. Nobody else seemed to oppose the man’s volunteering of himself therefore Renly said. “Very well, my lord, you may command the vanguard. Make sure to not engage directly. The Unsullied are well known for their defensive capabilities.”

Penrose bowed his head, and then Lord Mertyns spoke up. “My lord, I believe then that if the goal is to lure Viserys Targaryen here, then it would make the most sense to have archers ready. We have the best archers in the realm and should be able to deal a hefty blow to whatever men or eunuchs Targaryen brings.”

“I agree.” Lord Grandison said. “I think that we cannot allow them to simply come within a mile of our camp. Otherwise then they will try and shoulder their way through. We have the best archers in the realm. We would be foolish to let such an advantage go by. We must therefore ensure that everything is as we think it should be.”

Renly nodded. “Very well, I shall give you leave to organise this, my lords.” He got up and made to leave the tent when a messenger hurried in, panting heavily and covered in sweat.

“My lord, they are here.” The messenger said.

Renly was about to reply when he heard a horn sound and he swore. “TO arms.” He yelled, grabbing his sword, as others did the same. The sound of hooves became clearer. The battle had found them. How they had not heard this, he did not know.

* * *

 

**Lord Eddard Stark**

The wildlings were rabid now, they were not human, they came and they charged. The fires were running low, the bodies were burning but getting up again, so that they had to pour oil over them and then use what little resources they had to get things burning. Ned watched all of this and sighed. They were clearly just the vanguard. The giants had been felled easily enough, but they’d not known how to burn them with the resources they had and so the beasts had gotten up and started battering at the wall. The thing had shaken but thankfully it had stood the test of time. Ned could feel the hours he’d not slept ticking through his body, he needed a rest, but he couldn’t well rest when the wall might come down at any moment. By the gods was he tired.

“Get the fire ready.” He barked, it had started snowing at some point, when he was not quite sure, but he knew things could only get worse. So long as these fuckers were out there, things would be rough. Robb, his first born was commanding a unit down near the third gate, barking orders his direwolf there serving as protection. So far there had been no breaches into their side of the wall. But they were running out of tools to make fire, and for a way to ensure the security of the wall. He was getting slightly worried. And he knew Benjen was as well. His brother was barking orders elsewhere. They were all holding the wall as best as they could. They hadn’t lost any men since the wildlings had dared attempt their first breach of the wall, which was a relief.

The wall shook and somewhere a giant roared. “Pour it all down. Give no quarter.” Ned roared in response, he saw the men pour the pitchers down emptying it of all its content knowing that there would be little the wildlings and the giants could do. The oil landed on them, and then the flames from torches were thrown down, they caught and the giants screamed in pain. These were great beasts of legend, and Ned knew that in some aspect he should feel sorry for them. Gods alone knew that they were the last of their kind and that they did not deserve the painful death they were receiving, but at the same time they were threatening the normal order of things and that could not be allowed. Ned steeled himself. He nodded to the archers, who lit their arrows and fired. The sky came to life with fires burning across the spectrum of the ground. The ground beneath his feet shook, but this time not from giants but something else. The wall shook again, and he heard a scream. He turned and saw someone fall.

“Pull back. Secure the gates.” Ned roared, hurrying toward the lift, he made his way down and the lift progressed down the ground shook and the lift shook also. There was something on the other side causing this, what it was, he did not know, and it was worrying him. The lift reached the bottom he got out and found Benjen hurrying toward him. “What is it?” He asked his brother.

His brother hesitated then said. “I don’t know but I’ve just had to burn some twelve men.” The ground shook again causing them both to look at one another.

Robb soon joined them, he was sweating and covered in snow. “I think there’s something happening. The wildlings have stopped, but I’m not sure what.” The ground shook once more, and Ned grabbed his son by the arm to stop him falling over.

The wall creaked, and they looked up, sheets of ice were falling off it. “That’s never happened before.” Benjen said.

“We need to get the men off of there.” Ned said. His brother nodded and the command was passed around, ensuring that the men dressed in black and the grey of House Stark were taken off the wall, as more sheets started falling down, as it started cascading into different pieces of flint. “What the hell is happening?”

The answer came as more and more sheets of ice fell. They saw cracks appear in a structure that had not fallen in eight thousand years. But the thing did not fall, the cracks simply appeared. The roaring of giants came once more and Ned steeled himself for a battle, but this time there was nothing more than a roar. A horn sounded, that seemed to be like the dancing of a shrine. It was something more than that though, it sounded like a song that Ned had heard before. It continued for some time and then suddenly stopped. Ned stared at the wall, and saw something strange happen. The patterns on it changed, he’d never noticed there being any patterns on the wall before. He simply looked at it and saw the swirls and the change, then there was a pale blue face staring at him.  Its eyes were cold as well, and Ned suspected that this was what death looked like. The thing looked at him and then it spoke.

Its voice was like bones crunching. “We are coming for you. We are here to reclaim our destiny. None shall stand before us. Know that when we come, your lives shall end and the new age of winter shall begin. We are death, and we are light. Nothing can stand before us.” The thing held up a head, and Ned nearly threw up, that was Jeor Mormont’s head. “This thing stood before us and died. Know that this shall happen to you.” The image disappeared. Ned turned to his brother, who was staring at the wall as if he’d just seen a ghost. “Was that?”

“Yes.” Benjen said.


	24. Fight

**King Jon I Baratheon**

Jon often thought of Margaery during the course of the march into the Riverlands. Her hair, her smile, her voice, the conversations they could have. All of it was present in his mind during the ride through the crownlands and the journey into the southern Riverlands. He wondered how she was doing, they had written letters to one another a few times, but nothing serious could be said for fear of the letters being intercepted. He wondered how she was handling his mother and the small council, and whether Jon Arryn was still alive. He wondered if she was with child, they’d only had one night together, but they’d slept with one another roughly five times during that night. He smiled at the thought and then sighed. The fighting that was before him would be brutal. Mace Tyrell had spoken to him countless times during the journey to the Riverlands to talk about why he should be hand. It was almost as if the man did not have a way to shut up. He just kept going and going. He’d only stopped when they’d joined forces with Ser Brynden.

The old knight had brought the royal army with him giving them added numbers. He’d spoken of the dangers, that the Dothraki had raided and pillaged but not engaged in open battle. Lord Edmure had joined them and spoken of the dangers being brought to the land. Some Riverlords had followed Lord Bracken’s example, and declared openly for Viserys Targaryen. Bracken had broken the betrothal between his daughter and the heir to Raventree Hall, starting off another round of fighting between the two houses. Jon had wanted to resolve that matter, but then the southern Riverlands led by Lady Whent had erupted into rebellion and so, now here he was, trying to fight off the Riverlords commanded by some knight or the other, who were defending Harrenhal from the outside.

The fighting was currently something that he had tried to distract his mind from, but it seemed that his efforts were to be in vain. His hammer cascaded against some peasant’s chest, splitting it open. He took no pleasure in the shedding of blood, these people were doing what their lords told them to. Lords who should really have known better. They thought the Targaryens would give them something, the same Targaryens who had brought horse fuckers to Westeros. These people were either delusional or mad. He had no time for such people in his kingdom. His hammer took another life, and another, and another. The Kingsguard were at his side, Ser Barristan was a shining example in white, Jon had worried that the old man would side with Targaryen when the news had come, but the man had said simply that the Targaryens had lost the throne and that he had sworn a vow. Ser Hugh, his old friend from Oldstones was proving to be a very good knight of the Kingsguard. He fought with the strength of ten men and now he seemed possessed.

The hammer led the way, the herd thinned. These rebels were being destroyed. They were nothing more than minor lords who had answered Lady Whent’s call to arms. They had been content to let this all slide by them, and do nothing, but then they had been summoned by someone who was supposedly a great beauty in her youth and they had come. Jon sighed, how many more good men would need to die for the vanity of some good looking woman? He continued swinging his hammer and reducing ordinary men to nothing. These men should be tilling the land, they should be doing other things, not dying out here far from home. He had offered the lords a chance to surrender, to retire to their homes with dignity. But they had refused, and so they would die. He would not tolerate any sort of dissension within his Kingdom.

Men were charging at him from all sides, they fell to the ground, broken and destroyed. They likely would never get back up, and Jon knew he should feel some sort of sadness, but there was nothing there for him to feel. He knew that there wouldn’t be any sort of happiness within such a thing. They were just men, young and old alike and they were dying. He killed a lord, and then his heir, he could tell because they were mounted and wore the same colours. He killed another lord and his heir and his second son and his third son. In between the fighting he looked at Harrenhal in the distance and he bellowed. “Is this what you want? How many men must die before you surrender?” There was no answer, he would not be surprised if his voice had been swallowed by the noise of the fighting going on around him. Jon felt tired, so very tired. He wished he could just sleep, but such a thing was not an option for him and so he kept fighting.

A sharp pain indicated someone had gotten passed his defences, who that person might have been he did not know. He dealt a blow to whoever came near him by swinging his hammer and breaking them against it. There was blood coming from his armour, and it was pouring out into the round below. He would need treatment once this fighting was done, but for now he kept fighting. As long as these people kept fighting and challenging his kingdom he would keep fighting as well. He would not sit there and allow them to challenge him. Jon rolled his shoulders his hammer was filthy covered with blood as it was. There would be time to rest once this was done.

Just as he started thinking that perhaps the fighting was over, he heard roars and cries. He turned and swore. There were horse fuckers coming toward him, charging in great numbers. It seemed this had been the plan. He bellowed commands and as one his host turned from the shattered remains of the Riverlords host and attacked the Dothraki, engaging in a suicide mission.

* * *

 

**King Viserys III Targaryen**

They fell upon the Baratheon camp with relish. The fools had thought he would not know what they were doing. He had not been to Westeros in years, but he knew the geography of the entire kingdom. He knew where the marches were and he had marched the unsullied, the men of Stonedance and Sharp Point, and the Dothraki he had taken with him, for day and night and ensured that they had only stopped when necessary. Viserys had smelled a chance to strike early and garner some blood. And so he had. The Dothraki had ridden behind him, part of his main body, and now they were cutting their way through the enemy. The fools had been in tents, their camp a mess, with little organisation to it.

Viserys swung Dark Sister, cutting through the enemy as he went. There were peasants and lords and knights only in their shirts and trousers, trying desperately to get their armour on. He fell on them with a savagery he had not known he had possessed. He swung his sword and the enemy fell and died, there was no hope for them, no hope whatsoever. This was something that would make for a fascinating time he thought. The enemy was going to suffer, and they would know the true power of the Targaryen dynasty. He kept going, the swathes of bodies only adding to his blood lust. He knew what was needed and so he kept going, pushing and arguing and doing whatever he could to cut through the nonsense.

Viserys used his sword to cleave a bloody path through the enemy. Baratheon soldiers fell and died by their dozens, and he heard the Dothraki yelling out their war cries. He laughed. He felt the thrill of it all, the excitement and the chill. There was something innately perfect about this, something that would make it seem almost inevitable that victory would come. His horse was drinking in the blood of his foes and he knew they had found harmony. His horse had been a tough nut to crack before today, and now, well now he suspected they would get on famously. His sword cracked someone over the head and he watched blood fall from that man and laughed. Perhaps there was something more to the fighting than he had first thought. It was good to be away from Dragonstone and the insufferable bitch his sister had become during her pregnancy, she likely had given birth by now. And then there was Euron Greyjoy, the man was mad as a hatter, and Viserys knew he would need to remove him soon enough.

The body count continued to grow, but the Baratheons finally seemed to have found their balls, or their armour. They were mounting a challenge. Viserys yelled happily, he wanted a fight, he wanted to cut down a foe on equal terms, none of this nonsense about butchery. He killed a knight before the knight even had the chance to fight him. He stood firm and cut down another man, and then another. He took a few blows himself, but that was nothing compared to the exhilaration  that he got from killing others. There was just something about this feeling, the inhibitions were stripped away and he was able to fight properly, just without any limitations without anything to hold him back. He kept fighting, kept going pushing himself to his limits. The enemy bled and died, and the Baratheon commanders were dying alongside their men. He thought he saw a rose out there somewhere, the rose fell and didn’t get back up. He laughed, that would serve Tyrell for rejecting him. Now where was Baratheon?

Viserys knew that if he killed Baratheon and captured the boy who was to serve as Baratheon’s heir then he would have struck a significant bargain. From what his spies had told him, the usurper’s second son was someone with a mind that could be easily moulded like clay. That would be something he wished to exploit, to potentially better usages. He knew he could not give Storm’s End to someone else, therefore he would drag the Baratheon name on if he had to, with a puppet. A puppet who would bend to everything he demanded. That sounded quite nice. He cut down another man and yelled something at the man, what he yelled he would never remember, but he kept going. Baratheon was the person he needed to find.

There were so many of these fuck wits out there fighting and dying by their dozens, that it was becoming slightly hard to correctly identify them. The Dothraki had fought well and killed more than they had lost for which he was grateful, he did not want to explain the deaths to his sister who had for some strange reason fallen into some maternal thing for these savages. Perhaps it was the pregnancy making her act this way. Frankly he found it insane. He kept going, though, pushing these thoughts from his mind, focusing on the one thing that mattered. As he rode by he found a boy with brown hair, lying dead, a white cloak on his back, a knight of the Kingsguard had died it seemed. A shame, he could have used such people for his own ends. He kept riding and stopped. There a few feet away from the knight of the Kingsguard was a man in Baratheon livery, a stag helm lying near him. With black hair, and blue eyes staring unseeingly. “Who is that?” He asked as he got down. One of the men near the body said. “Renly Baratheon, Sire. He died trying to get to Ser Loras.”

Viserys nodded. “And the boy?”

“Boy, Sire?” the knight replied.

“Yes, there is a boy, a Prince, where is he?” Viserys demanded.

The man looked nervous. “He escaped, Sire.”

Viserys said nothing. He sighed. “We move for Storm’s End.” He could not leave his rear exposed after all, that would be madness.


	25. Schemes and Cold

**Queen Margaery Baratheon**

There was a lot that came with being Queen, Margaery had always known that but it still took her by surprise sometimes. There was attending to the various charities she was a patron of, there was ensuring the household ran smoothly, and then there was managing the court. Those last two things were helped by her goodmother. Queen Dowager Cersei Baratheon had helped a lot with ensuring she understood certain procedures and rituals needed to get things moving in King’s Landing. The system was slightly slow and therefore in need of reform, something that she would speak to her husband about when he returned from the war. They’d managed to write to one another a few times, nothing too serious, and she couldn’t inform him of her pregnancy in case the news was intercepted by one of their enemies, that was the downside of that. But other than that, things were moving along.

Margaery was currently sat in the small council chamber, listening to the lords of the council discuss the matters of state, the council was slightly less in number, Jon Arryn had passed on a few days ago, Lord Renly had been away at war, as had Loras, their deaths continued to haunt her, Lord Redwyne was moving on Dragonstone, and her husband was at war also. Margaery listened as Lord Baelish the master of coin spoke. “Your Majesty will know that the accounts show that we are making a healthy yield on trade with Myr and Lys, as well as Tyrosh the three daughters have more than made up for the lack of trade that we have with Braavos. Naharis will be feeling the pinch of that and might well fall apart in the intervening months particularly when Viserys Targaryen loses this war he is waging.”

Margaery listened intently, she suspected that there was something foul at play with the accounts, Jon had mentioned the irregularities in them, and when she herself had looked through the books she had seen that there had been changes made, for what reason though she did not know. “You are quite sure that Naharis invested considerable sums within Targaryen’s operation? I would not wish for us to make an accusation against someone such as him and have it turn out to be false.”

Baelish nodded. “My sources at the Iron Bank show that he used money from the Sealord’s account to publicly fund the Targaryen campaign, he has lent vast sums of money in the hopes of unseating your husband, His Majesty the King. This is something that is without doubt.” There was something in the way Baelish moved then, the way his words sounded that raised her suspicions. _He’s hiding something, but what?_ Margaery thought to herself, unsure of what angle to play there, she would need to confirm with her goodmother about that.

“Very well, Lord Varys, what word do you have regarding the movement of troops?” Margaery asked. She trusted the eunuch more than she did the mockingbird, for the simple fact that she knew how to move against Varys, he played the game, and she knew that, and he knew that she knew. Baelish tried far too hard to show himself to be nothing more than the simply master of coin. Therefore, he hid his motives behind a veneer of respectability, this made it harder to truly identify his motives.

“The King has dealt a serious blow to the Targaryen cause, Your Majesty. Through defeating the coalition of forces under the command of Lord Bracken outside Harrenhal and through dealing with those few Dothraki forces that were sent as reinforcements, he has shown that he will not give an inch to those who would threaten his kingdom. This has meant that the lords of the Reach who might have risen for Targaryen have instead decided to remain neutral, or have decided to ride to his aid. The Dothraki remain in Saltpans, though my little birds report that they are growing anxious, they wish to fight and make a move.” The eunuch responded. The man continued. “Furthermore, my sources report that Lord Renly and Ser Loras’s deaths, there was a scramble back to Storm’s End. Prince Tommen made it back safely to the castle, with some three thousand men, but the rest of the army either died on the field or bent the knee to Viserys Targaryen.”

“Traitors, the lot of them.” Cersei said. Margaery said nothing, Loras had been an idiot, and rash, but he was still her brother, and he had loved Renly. She had known making him a knight of the Kingsguard would be a terrible idea. Still her father had wanted it, and so it had happened.

“Very well, thank you. That is all.” Margaery said, she got up, as did Cersei and together they walked out of small council chamber, Ser Jaime walking behind them. Why that knight had remained in King’s Landing she did not know, but the King had insisted on it. As they walked, Margaery turned to her goodmother and said. “What do you think it is that Baelish is hiding, Mother?”

Cersei laughed. “What isn’t he hiding? There’s something going on between him and the Braavosi, which would make sense as he originally hails from there. He would know more about the internal situation in that city than anyone else, even the eunuch. Therefore, we must make sure we gather more information than we already have, in order to ensure that we have him right where we want him.”

“How are we going to do that, everyone we have spoken to claims not to know anything or have provided us with leads that simply circle back on themselves.” Margaery replied, she wondered what Baelish had over so many people to make them fear him so.

Cersei smiled. “I have a friend in his inner circle, who is ready to talk. A certain Archmaester whose testament will be very damning.”

Margaery smiled. “Then we must endeavour to meet with him.”

* * *

 

**Master Robb Stark**

They were in the Lord Commander’s solar, and the chill was growing, everyone was in lair upon lair of furs and wool, trying to keep warm. It was frankly ridiculous if he were being honest, but then again this was their life now. Since that sight had appeared on the Wall, the wall started shaking and groaning at particular times, and so they had instituted a watch on it. If even the slightest crack appeared on the wall, someone was to inform either him, his father or uncle Benjen. They were all on edge.

Robb spoke, having just been on patrol. “So far everything is quiet on the other side of the wall. There has been no movement, apart from the odd deer running through the snow. It seems as though the wildlings have decided that they would rather not make a pass at the wall.” Robb wondered whether they were doing the right thing. The wildlings had been their enemies for as long as anyone could remember, but now there was a true and real threat beyond the wall, and they weren’t budging. It felt wrong somehow. “I believe that they are gathering near the Fist.” When there was a raised eyebrow from his father he elaborated. “We know from reading through the books that that is what was done in the past. When the white walkers came down in their thousands in aeons past, the wildlings gathered on the Fist and attempted to make a stand.”

“Except they weren’t wildlings then, but part of the First Men.” The blind Maester Aemon pointed out. “The wildlings are far more in touch with their ancestral roots than the first men who ended up behind the wall once it got raised. They knew more about what had happened for it was passed down in stories. The wildlings you captured said as much, did they not master Robb?”

Robb nodded, the wildlings they’d captured trying to cross over to their side had spoken like their lives depended on it. “Yes, they said that the wildlings had always been aware that the white walkers had hidden themselves away in the lands of always winter, but they had never truly been able to understand just why those creatures had done that. As time had progressed they gradually thought that was just the natural order of things. So, when the white walkers started their move south, they became worried.”

Umber spoke then, his tone demanding. “Did these savages say why the white walkers are coming south?” Umber had a hatred of the wildlings that far surpassed anything that even the mountain clans could profess to, and Robb wondered why that was.

“No, they have thought through everything they could remember hearing about the White Walkers and nothing they have been told ever says why they’d come south.” Robb replied. He hesitated for a moment, looking at his father, and then saying. “They did something else though.”

“And what was that?” Uncle Benjen asked, his face looked as though he had not slept for a few hours. They all probably looked like that.

Robb took a breath, unsure of how true this thing he was about to say was. “These wildlings said that in the days passed, the children of the forest used to wander through the lands beyond the wall. The children were not the benevolent beings our stories paint them as, instead they were monsters, they demanded payment in blood, payment in children and other such things. They demanded all of these things to help develop a way for them to keep their power. For according to these wildlings, the children are dying, they are growing weaker and weaker, as magic dies in the world. There is something in the air that is killing them, and so they are preparing for a final assault on the world of man. Whether or not that ever comes to pass, the wildlings are not sure, but the children are definitely involved somehow.”

“If the children are still alive, it would make sense that they would wish for some sort of retribution. The north has not exactly been friendly to them.” Lord Bolton said. “You hear about it the old stories. Of the fights being waged between one side and then another. Of things that would make the Blood and Cheese incident of the Dance look like nothing more than a petty squabble.”

“So, are you saying that as well as worrying about the walking dead, we now need to worry about a potentially angry race that has a long history of wanting us dead?” The Greatjon asked sounding incredibly annoyed.

“I do not know.” Robb replied truthfully, for he did not know and he was not sure if he wanted to know. Myrcella had written to him telling him she was with child, and he wanted to see his child be born. He wanted to return home and some point. Not stay here constantly fighting and dying.

Father spoke then. “Let us worry about the white walkers. We know they are out there and we know they are coming. We must be prepared for them when they do come. For they are not going to simply allow us the chance to collect ourselves when they do arrive. They are going to try and harm us in every possible way.” There was a pause then, then Father continued. “Now, how many Dragonglass arrows, knives and swords do we have?”

Samwell Tarly, who had been at Oldstones with Robb spoke. “We have four hundred and fifty, my lord.” Tarly spoke with a tremor in his voice, though he was a smart kid.

“And where might we get more?” Father asked.

“From beyond the wall, or perhaps from Dragonstone.” Tarly responded.

“We will have to go beyond the wall at some point.” Uncle Benjen said. “Better we go now when we can command some sort of strength.”

Robb could tell father was reluctant to let that happen, but he sighed and said. “Very well. But not until we get more information.”

 


	26. Plans

**King Jon I Baratheon**

The sound of the dying echoed in his mind, it didn’t stop, it never stopped. The screams, the images of blood, bodies being carved. Good men had died for the hubris of two men claiming the throne. He was one of them. That thought would remain with him for the rest of his days. He did not know how else to handle what had happened. It was something that did not make much sense to him. They’d defeated the Dothraki and the rebellious Riverlords, but at such cost. Harrenhal was drenched in the blood of the foes who had fought and died outside its walls. And with the blood of Lady Whent who had not bent the knee, she had been slain by his own hand.

He rubbed his beard and said. “We all know that the Dothraki remain encamped in Saltpans, trying to take that town now would be madness. We hold Harrenhal, and the Dothraki have lost a good portion of their men. We must make sure that they come to us, this is something that my uncle failed to understand when he made his camp at the base of the Hook.” Word of his uncle’s death had come after the fight, Tommen was safe, which was the main thing that concerned him, but his uncle’s death weighed on him. Loras Tyrell had died also, and he knew that Margaery would be grieving, he had written to her, offering condolences. He missed his wife. “We cannot sit here indefinitely, though, winter is coming as the Starks like to say. With my brother, Prince Tommen in Storm’s End, it is only right that some of the lords of the Reach defend their prince.” Lord Mace bowed his head, the man’s son Ser Garlan was riding out with some twenty thousand to protect Tommen from the atrocities that the savages would commit. “Ser Brynden what is your prediction?” the old knight had been quiet since their defeat of the rebellious Riverlords, his nephew, Lord Edmure was at his side, bearing the scars of the battle. The man had fought bravely.

Ser Brynden had only one eye, one of the Dothraki had tried to kill him and instead had taken his eye. The knight had laughed about it afterwards. “I believe Sire, that the men are prepared to march to wherever you wish them to. They will march to the Stormlands if you so wish. But I would advise sending some of them out to bait the Dothraki. Unlike the situation in the Stormlands, the Dothraki now do not have any one to advise them on how to navigate the lands in which they find themselves. They will be vulnerable and scared and they will make mistakes.”

Lord Mace spoke then. “The Dothraki still have Ser Cox, and whilst he is a coward, he does still know the Riverlands. He will no doubt want them out of his city though. Speaking of which, what will happen with the Saltpans once the Dothraki have been defeated? Will you have Cox keep the city?”

Jon knew the man wanted to take the city for himself, or for Margaery, or to install a cousin or an ally there. Jon sighed. “It will become part of the crown’s domains, just as Harrenhal and Maidenpool now are.” Jon knew that some of the lords gathered around him grumbled at that, that they did not approve of such seizures. But frankly he did not care, he knew that these were things that needed to be done and they needed to be done quickly. He’d already had the writs sent out and confirmed via his own seal. Things were completed. “Very well, Lord Mace, you shall take five thousand of your best men and ride out toward the Saltpans, tempt them and draw them out. Do not engage until you get to Widow’s Reap. We shall be waiting there, prepared to take over. They shall break.”

Lord Mace nodded his consent, his chest puffing out. Jon got up and the meeting ended, once he was back in his own rooms though, he sat down, took off the crown and spoke. “Quentyn do you think I have made the right choice?” Quentyn who had fought at his side throughout the fighting, was one of his closest friends and his most trusted advisor on this damned campaign.

“I think you are doing the best you can Sire. There are things that need to be done and then there are things that should be done. Prince Tommen has some of the soundest minds about him. They will ensure he is protected. Storm’s End has never fallen either, so if it comes to a siege he should be safe.” Quentyn replied, leaving out the fact that the castle had nearly fallen during the rebellion.

“And what of your father and uncle, will they remain neutral and continue allowing Dornishmen to side with me, or will they side with Viserys?” Jon asked, that had been a serious concern for him when the war had started.

“I believe he will remain neutral. There is no benefit to them fighting against you, Sire. They know that we are friends and that they can gain more from this friendship of ours than from fighting for someone who has brought savages into the realm.” Quentyn said.

Jon laughed. “This is true. And of course my own grandsire remains neutral in the fighting. No doubt keeping an eye out on who and what will triumph. I believe he is trying to prevent my uncle Tyrion from marrying Asha Greyjoy.” Jon laughed again, the thought of that was somewhat hysterical. “I do wonder if he will actually achieve that or not. I know Lord Theon has brought some sense to the islands. I am tempted to arrange his marriage to Sansa Stark, but I feel that would be too risky.”

Quentyn laughed. “I agree, Sire. Better to isolate the Ironborn than let them back with such a prestigious marriage.”

* * *

 

**Queen Dowager Cersei Baratheon**

Cersei draped the shawl over her shoulder, and read through the letters before her. Jaime stood guard behind her. She knew he was deeply concerned about Tommen and not being out there to fight. But the King, her son had not given him any orders to fight, and therefore he was stuck in the city, guarding her. Not for the first time, she wondered how the distance between them had opened, and how to close it. Cersei sighed, there was no point thinking about it, her time in the sun had ended, now it was the time of her son and his wife. Margaery who was sat next to her looking over different letters. She liked the girl, she had brains and something else, a charm that made her too serious son smile.

The door opened and an attendant said. “Archmaester Marwyn is without, Your Majesties.”

“Show him in.” Cersei said. She’d known the Archmaester for nearly twenty years, she’d first met him as a young girl when she’d served as a lady in waiting for Princess Elia. He’d always been a bit eccentric and had run with Prince Rhaegar and his interest in magic. Things had been much different then. But now the man could be of use. The Archmaester entered, bowing before them. “Marwyn. You have maintained close ties with Petyr Baelish and the deceased Jon Arryn, have you not?”

“I have, Your Majesty.” The man replied. Cersei had never quite trusted Marwyn, seeing him as more of a snake than reliable source of information, but Robert had entrusted him with some very dangerous tasks, and so she was willing to allow him some leeway.

“Tell us what sort of dealings you had with them both.” Cersei commanded. She had some idea of what sort of things Marwyn might have done with the two, but she wanted her gooddaughter to hear them from the man first-hand.

Marwyn nodded. “I befriended Petyr Baelish shortly after he was sent out of Riverrun for reasons unknown. At the time, I was working on a book and was resident on his father’s lands. As such we got speaking and I saw that Baelish had a hunger for knowledge. So, I trained him. I taught him almost everything I knew about accounts and finance and how to play politics. When the time came for me to return to the Citadel, I took him with me, and he became my scribe, writing down everything I dictated to him and ensuring that everything was in order. I met Jon Arryn during this time, and told him that Petyr Baelish would make a fine collector of coin in Gulltown. And so, the man was appointed there. I kept in touch with both of them. We started discussing politics, the realm and the reforms that the King was implementing.” Marwyn paused then continued. “Jon Arryn though he was Hand of the King and saw King Robert as a son, seriously disapproved of those reforms, believing that they were infringing on the rights of the kingdoms to their own ways and traditions. He wished to change that and make things more fair as he saw it. I under advisement, told the man that perhaps he should use Baelish as a means of siphon off money from the crown to fund rebel groups. Arryn did so and with each rebellion, things got clearer. Baelish grew in power, but remained loyal to me. I told him I wished for us to get revenge on those who had insulted us, and he followed me loyally. Under advisement I gave him and Lord Arryn every plan and strategy that could be used to further their own gains. When Arryn became useless to me, and to my advisors, I left a vile of the  Tears of Lys in Lysa Arryn’s draws and ensured that she would use it. Arryn died. Baelish however has continued siphoning off money from the realm for his own purposes.” Cersei gestured for the man to continue. “He wishes to remove Lord Eddard Stark from this world and take Catelyn Stark as his wife. He also wishes to remove the current structure to which we all adhere to and take power for himself. He wishes for revenge. I had sensed this from the beginning and have used that for my own ends, for the ends of the Kingdom.”

Cersei nodded, she had suspected as much, Robert had told her some of his plans and his suspicions and now to have it confirmed, well that was another bonus. “And would you be willing to confirm this before the court if so summoned?”

“I would, Your Majesty. The realm is all, and Petyr Baelish is a danger to the realm.” Marwyn replied.

“Thank you. You may go.” Cersei said, Marwyn bowed and left. Once he was gone, Cersei turned to her gooddaughter and asked. “So, what did you make of that?”

“I think that it was most interesting, and I do believe that Marwyn was working for your late husband, my husband’s father, King Robert. I believe that he was doing all of this with your knowledge and understanding for you did not trust Jon Arryn to remain true to what King Robert wanted to achieve and so you planned and plotted to remove the threats to the reforms you had planned.” Margaery said.

Cersei smiled. “You would be right.” It had taken a long time but finally it had happened, now the mockingbird would fall.

“Why? Did you not trust Jon Arryn?” Margaery asked.

“The man had always felt that the passing over of his cousin for the throne was a grievous insult that meant bringing down the line that had replaced him. My husband and son were part of that line though their names are Baratheon not Targaryen. Therefore, I needed to make sure that Robert saw this for himself. He did. We then worked together to ensure that Arryn and Baelish would fall together. Baelish was always a threat, he has far too many radical ideas.” Cersei answered.

 


	27. Beyond The Wall

**Lord Eddard Stark**

Snow fell around him, it was freezing here, the armour he wore did little to keep the heat inside. Ned knew that perhaps he should have worn his helm, but that would’ve restricted his vision. He had volunteered to ride north of the wall, with some five hundred men, a mixture of northmen and black brothers, to assess the situation beyond the wall and to gather as much Dragonglass as they possibly could. Samwell Tarly who had killed a white walker was with them, he would lead the digging out of the Dragonglass. They were riding toward the Fist of the First Men. They could see it in their sights, but there were tents, empty tents all around them. Evidently, the wildlings had fled, but to where they had gone they did not know. They got the fist and stopped. Ned dismounted and barked orders, he took a shovel and started digging, as snow fell around him. Snow and mud was moved as he dug, ensuring that he kept a close eye on anything that glinted. So far there was nothing more than dirt and bone and snow.

He moved with as quick a pace as he could, the cold made it damnably hard to actually do anything properly. He had to stop occasionally to ensure his muscles did not chafe and stop. He dug and moved and kept an eye, as did the others. Occasionally he’d stick his head up above the snow and look at the empty tents, wondering where the wildlings had gone and if they were going to find them at some point as they dug. Tarly had said that the wildlings would likely have moved for the Fist, but if they were not here, then perhaps they had gone elsewhere? Those thoughts troubled him slightly, but eventually, they disappeared as they found Dragonglass, shaped into spears and arrows. They put them into pouches and quickened their digging, they found more patches of Dragonglass and put them away inside pouches and sent off riders to head back to Castle Black with them. if they were attacked now, they would be finished, but if they could get these things back to Castle Black without being mauled then all would be well.

They continued digging and placing the Dragonglass, a mixture of arrows, spears, even the odd sword, into pouches, specially made for them, and shipping them off. Once they had gotten as much as they could, Ned gave the order and they mounted their horses and rode off back to the Castle. As they rode, the temperature dropped severely. Ned wanted to write it off as nothing more than an oddity, but then, he saw something through the snow. A body, twisted, its head snaking toward him. “Fire.” He roared through the snow, something was thrown at the thing and it burned screeching into the night. Ned blinked, took a breath and then pushed his horse on. “Protect the glass.” He roared, the order was passed on through the chain of command. They kept going and there was little sign of the thing that had come staggering toward him before. But then, something else happened. The ground shook, and a crack appeared before them. Ned looked up and saw death staring him in the face.

He barked his orders, and the men got into formation, they stood their ground and fought, as wights and death came toward them. They burned the wights, and tried to fend of the white walkers without using up their Dragonglass. He found that Ice could shatter the white walkers if they came too close to him. Distantly through the blizzard he could see something, a shape, or multiple shapes, they looked big but they also looked small. They were watching this fight, scoping out the enemy trying to decide what would happen, which way to move no doubt. Ned barked his orders and some of the arrows got used, scattering the enemy and killing them. The wights died when their masters were killed. That was useful information to have. The chaos stopped slowly, and then built up again as more beasts came charging toward them, screaming for their rights and for justice. Though how he understood what was being said, Ned did not know.

Ned kept pushing his men, it was critical that they made it back home. He needed to make it home, he threw all he had at the enemy and took some pleasure when  white walkers shattered and the wights broke down and turned to ash. They used as much fire as they could, and one moment the enemy was there then it was gone, then it was back. They were trying to cause some form of distraction, but then they would reappear. And at one point Ned clashed swords with someone, a big brute of a man who whispered in his head. “We shall fight again you and I.” before disappearing. Eventually, the enemy was beaten back and they made to Castle Black intact. They’d only had to burn twenty bodies.

* * *

 

**Lord Euron Greyjoy**

Euron was happy to be off that fucking island. He despised islands, he’d lived his entire life on one until he’d been old enough to and sail the seas and explore the world for himself. Then he’d felt happier and relieved. He’d been stuck on Dragonstone on the King’s order. To keep an eye on the King’s sister, who had been pregnant, the woman had since given birth to a little boy, who had something Euron thought was a dragon’s tail. Though since nobody else said they could see it, he kept quiet. He knew what he would do if the King failed. Then word had come that the usurper’s fleet was heading to Dragonstone. The King had sent word for him to engage and so here he was.

The Silence moved quickly and quietly, as befit its name. It moved and snaked around those who would do it harm, and as it did so, the soldiers of the enemy fell down before it and died. Euron had ensured his men were prepared, there would be no surrender now. There would be only death and laughter. He would ensure his name lived on. Even if that mean doing things nobody else could think of. He had something in his pocket, the horn, or a horn, not the horn, but a horn. He used the sword and axe he had used since his father had given them to him. The Islands were lost to him now but that did not matter, he would sort out his own affairs. He kept going. The ship turning and twisting causing chaos wherever it went. Euron laughed, seeing ships burn and people die had always been something he’d enjoyed. He saw no reason not to. After all they were all going to die at some point. Might as well have some fun with it.

A man came hovering toward him, Euron dispatched him from the world into something else. He moved on and on and on. It was quite amusing truth be told, seeing these people try and figure out what he was doing. Just as his brothers had never quite understood him. Balon had been half mad when they were younger, in his desperation to outshine their half-brothers, Victarion had always been a fool, a better soldier than anything else. Urrigon was an idiot, Aeron was a drunkard and Robin had been nothing more than some half-wit. His brother had never understood that for life to be perfect, life needed to be taken. He had taken his fair share of life. He’d killed one brother and ensured the other would rebel. He’d never really cared for power, just the thrill of absolute chaos, that was what he enjoyed, what he wanted. And now he had it in abundance. He moved and moved and people died, ships sank and the world was at peace within him, though outside the world went to shit.

He laughed and laughed. It was amusing to him, seeing the world burn, watching as people fought and tried to make sense of everything. The fools didn’t even understand why they did the things that they did. They did not understand that the world was going to end them one way or another, and they would never be able to stop it. Euron had realised long ago what his nature was, and he had embraced it. He relished the chance of taking it all, of making everything pay, and enjoying the screed toward dominance. Hell, if Balon had realised this perhaps he would still be alive. So many had passed and died, so many had never realised what they could achieve. That made him saddened for a moment and then he laughed, and decided what point was there in being sad, he needed to act and ensure he himself was remembered.

Euron moved and moved and moved and moved and moved. The whole world was moving, but nobody could find him, nobody could stop him. He just kept going. He could respect those who fought and died with their boots on, he could not respect those who simply stood there and did nothing. Those were the worst sorts of people. He did nothing of the sort, he would not tolerate it. He kept pushing and laughing, enjoying the sense of pleasure he got from this. Wanting it to keep going and never stop. Everything had to be just so, nothing could be changed, or removed. He laughed there was something funny about the world and the way it operated. What it was he did not know, nor did he much care.

Only when he was knocked to the ground, and staring up at some shitty land dweller did he realise the fleet was burning, his men were dead and he was half naked. He laughed. The man demanded something from him and Euron simply smiled and said. “Do as you will, they will come for you all in the end.” He had made his deal, let them all suffer, he would live in greatness.

 


	28. Wedding and Execution

****

**Lady Asha Greyjoy**

The bells of the sept rang out, and Asha smiled. She had waited for this day for a very long time. She wore a dress, the one time she would ever wear one, and she wore her cloak. Theon stood behind her, having coming from Pyke to assist in the ceremony. She smiled at her brother, he’d lost an eye during the fighting on Pyke, but he looked a lot more handsome and more of a man for it. Theon smiled back. The Septon spoke. “Who comes?”

“Lady Asha of the House Greyjoy.” Theon answered in his deep voice. “Who claims her?”

“Tyrion of House Lannister.” Tyrion answered, he stood proudly dressed in red and gold, the colours of his house, looking handsome.

Theon left her at the altar and stood behind her. The High Septon spoke then. “We are gathered here today, in celebration of that most perfect of unions. A marriage between man and woman. These two young people before me, have made the ultimate commitment, to hold one another through all their troubles. Before the Father, the Mother, the Crone, the Smith, the Warrior, the Maiden and the Stranger, I bid you recite your vows.”

Asha turned to Tyrion then and spoke. “I, Asha Greyjoy do hereby swear before the Father, the Mother, The Crone, The Smith, the Warrior, the Maiden and the Stranger,  and the Drowned God, to love you and to hold you. To share in your joys, and your problems, to protect you, and to share with you all that this life holds for us.” She placed a ring on Tyrion’s middle finger.

Tyrion spoke then. “I Tyrion Lannister do hereby swear before the Father, The Mother, the Maiden, the Crone, the Smith, the Warrior and the Maiden and the Stranger to love you and to hold you. To share in your joys and your problems. To protect you and defend you from the world’s ills. To ensure that all that comes before you is good and bountiful. To serve as a confidant and a friend, from this day to my last.” Tyrion placed a ring on her finger. Then they looked at the Septon who nodded to Theon.

Her brother moved forward and removed her cloak as Tyrion turned and placed the red and gold cloak of the House Lannister over her shoulders. The Septon spoke then. “Before the gods you have been declared husband and wife, let all who witness this know that this has been declared and is the will of the gods. You may now kiss.”

Asha bent down and placed her lips against Tyrion’s, she sighed with contentment as the kiss deepened briefly, before they parted. They walked together holding hands, as the crowd cheered, outside on the streets the people cheered. Lord Tywin was there dressed in armour, waiting for them. He was to ride out for the Riverlands to aid in the fight against the savages. He nodded to them. “Know that I only consented to this marriage because of the trade benefits I was promised by the King.” The man said before he turned and walked off.

Asha turned to her husband and said. “Your father is an arsehole.”

“I know, my love.” Her husband replied, she smiled and bent down and kissed him again.

* * *

 

**Lord Petyr Baelish**

The air had a chill in it. His clothes were dirty, the cells had not been kind to him. He had expected nothing less, he was a traitor to the realm after all. Petyr laughed. The whole episode had been somewhat humorous though he supposed he should have been more concerned with how easily he had been found out. Marwyn must have sold him out, the man had always had that air of superiority over him. Or it could have been Lysa, the woman had fled to the Vale shortly after her husband had died, or he thought she had, but then she’d appeared at his trial and spoken so ill of him. It was quite sad really. He had given so much, done so much, and now his house would die with him. Perhaps his father had been right, perhaps he had aimed to high and flown too close the sun. But then his father had been an old and bitter man when he had said that, and Petyr had had no time for such nonsense. He would achieve what he wanted whether his father liked it or not. And the more he thought of it, the more he was convinced that he had indeed achieved everything.

The executioner spoke. “Lord Petyr Baelish, you stand accused of laundering money to fund illicit adventures, you stand accused of committing treason by supplying enemies of the crown with the funds you had taken from the treasury. You stand accused of taking an active hand in the poisoning of certain crown officials to further your own end. Do you deny these charges?”

Petyr laughed. “I do not.” It did not matter to him now whether he lived or died. Cat had rejected him, even the miserable simp Lysa had rejected him.

“Do you have anything you wish to say before you meet your maker?” the executioner asked him.

“I do.” Petyr replied. “I think that this whole thing is a sham. There is nothing but lies and deceit here. Everyone who operates for the crown is complicit in the suppression of the people. They operate as though they are trying to better the realm, but really they are out there for themselves. To succeed one must ensure that they are loyal to someone and everyone. We must whore ourselves out for the stupidity of the fools who were born into power. There is nothing worse than that.” Petyr spat then, the crowd booed at him and he yelled. “You are fools.”

The executioner pushed him down onto the block. And said. “Lord Petyr Baelish, on order of His Majesty the King, you are sentenced to death. May the Gods protect your soul.” As the axe came down, Petyr laughed, there were no gods. There was only the struggle.


	29. Something

**Master Robb Stark**

The cold had come, and with it death had come. The wall was shattering and crumbling around them, they were doing everything they could to ensure that they did not fall victim to some form of loose rock or ice statute. Robb knew that the men were scared, and hell who was he kidding, he was bloody terrified himself, but he knew that he could not display that. To do so would make the fear of the men much worse, and that was something that they could not allow. Greywind was at his side snarling and ripping into the wights, his sword glowed with fire, he held a Dragonglass sword in another hand, preparing to use it should the white walkers come near him.

His father was nearby fighting with as much energy as he could muster, his father had suffered a slight wound before, but now seemed okay. Robb hoped that things would end now, with the number of dead things approaching, Robb got the impression that this was the last attempt by the dead to come to them. The Wildlings had been destroyed during the night, Robb had heard their screams, the whole world seemed to be waiting for them to finish this fight, to see whether or not humanity could survive. Robb knew that perhaps that was slightly exaggerated but it did feel true at that moment in time. Robb took down some beast with fire, and watched as it dissolved. They were killing white walkers as well. A beast came toward him glowing white, and Robb swung his Dragonglass sword and watched it fall and shatter. Thousands of wights fell and shattered as he did that.

He barked out his commands to the men following him and as one they moved to take control of the situation. Snow was falling around them, twirling and swirling and generally making it hard for them to see. The only way to tell if there was an enemy before you was to keep breathing and if something staggered toward you, to move either sword. Flame or Dragonglass would remove the foe and ensure that things were settled. The fighting continued, the sun rose into its highest position and then lowered and rose again. He did not know how long they fought for, but they kept going. Robb knew that though he felt tired he could not stop, for to stop would be to admit to some form of weakness and these creatures fed on it. Robb pushed on, his men and Greywind followed as well, as he fought he thought of the son he would be meeting when he returned home. Myrcella, his beautiful wife had written and a letter had come some time before telling him that they had a son, named Cregan for the legendary Old Man of the North.

That he was a father was the main reason Robb kept fighting, he was young yes, but he had two people counting on him to return home. He could not let his tiredness take over, he needed to keep going and so he pushed his body passed what perhaps he should have done. He swung his swords, burning and destroying as he went. He smiled softly when the enemy fell and as more wights disappeared or as more white walkers died. There were a damned sight of them. Yet they were falling in greater and greater numbers. Robb found himself fighting and fighting with increased frequency whether he was actually having an impact or not, well the fewer numbers of White Walkers that were around told him that perhaps he was. He kept going, fighting, pushing and fighting back on the pain that threatened to engulf him. he knew he could not let that stop him. He stopped fighting when he came face to face with some sort of misshapen man, who had a face but no body. The thing wore a crown. “You have freed us. For that we thank you.” The figure dissolved. The others dissolved, the men cheered, there was a crack of lightning in the sky, then the snow stopped and the sun popped through and the snow began to melt. Robb smiled.

* * *

 

**King Viserys III Targaryen**

He had left Storm’s End, fleeing the castle after his host had nearly been destroyed. The Stormlords had died on their swords then against the host of Reachmen, he had fought his way through with the Unsullied and made his way northwards. Then he had discovered that his Dothraki had had the same idea. The city of King’s Landing was before them. but there was an army protecting the city. Viserys knew that to win he would need to defeat the host, bigger than his though it was, and take the city itself. He was tired, the Dornish had refused to come to his aid, Robert Arryn had betrayed him and now here he was. He steeled himself, he gave a speech to his men, the unsullied, the Dothraki, the sellswords, and then the battle began.

Viserys dove right into the fighting, swinging his sword, watching as peasants died. They were worth nothing to him, these peasants who continued insisting on fighting for those who were less than them. He pushed himself as hard as he could and fought. His sword sang as it killed more and more men, sometimes even women, though how those women got there, he did not know. It did not matter, he pushed on, he fought and fought. His body took some blows, but he knew that every blow was worth it, if it meant that he could win and take what he was owed. He fought through it all, and fought and fought. Yet there were those who refused to die, those who refused to break when he killed them, they kept coming back and so he when he did kill them he was broken and wounded but when he saw Baratheon, wearing a stag helm he roared and charged.

They clashed, Viserys swore, his arms hurt, but Baratheon didn’t seem to be managing any better than he was. That gave him some hope, and so he swallowed the pain and pushed on. They exchanged blows, he managed to cut a few times, whilst getting hit on the chest a few times. His eyes would water, and he would wonder whether he would be able to get back up should he falter now. He thought of Rhaegar, of Elia, of Aegon and Rhaenys and decided that he would not die now. He would fight on. Viserys roared and fought and fought. His sword clashed with the hammer that the brute who claimed his throne wielded. He kept going. Every time he landed a successful blow on the brute he smiled. His body was tiring though, he was not responding as quickly to attacks as he had done, mere moments ago. He started panicking. He started wondering whether things would be right. Whether he should slow down.

He did not see the hammer coming from the skies, he did not feel the blow. Until he did. Then his sword was out of his hand, his horse was dead, and falling, and he, he was somewhere in between. His body was breaking. He coughed, he struggled, but nothing he did could change the fact that he was indeed starting to falter. The horse crashed onto the ground. Time stopped. He struggled to get up, his horse was somewhere else, how he got up he did not now. His sword was in his hand, he charged. Baratheon knocked him down. He got back up, he got knocked back down. This kept happening until a blow hit his chest, and he could not move. He simply fell down. He stared at the sky and as he did so, Viserys whispered. “I am sorry I failed you.” He wondered what they would do to Daenerys.

 


	30. End

****

**Lord Eddard Stark**

Winterfell was a welcome sight, it was as if he had stepped out from a dream and into the light. The cold of the wall had been replaced by warmth and sunshine. There was nothing more to it than that. The fighting had gone on for so long, he had truly forgotten what the sun looked like. That was something that had worried him. But now, he was back and everything was better. The white walkers had been defeated and the children had not appeared, making him think that these things were not what they had once been. There had been discussions and other such things about what to do now that the wall was in a state of disrepair, and truth be told, with the wildlings dead, they were still unsure over what to do there.

Ned sighed, he walked with his wife, through the gardens of Winterfell. Their children were inside the castle, Robb was with his wife and their son- Ned and Catelyn’s grandchild, a thought that continued to amaze him- Sansa was writing a letter to Prince Tommen, who had been confirmed as Prince of Storm’s End by the King, Arya and Bran were playing, running through the godswood, and Rickon was asleep. They walked and Ned felt happy, he felt content, and he felt tired. “Thank you, my love.” He said, when Cat looked up at him her eyebrow raised he elaborated. “For ensuring that things ran smoothly, whilst I was away I know it couldn’t have been easy, but I wanted to thank you for doing so.”

Catelyn laughed. “It was nothing, truthfully, Ned. The ladies of the north all worked together to ensure that the north didn’t descend into anything during the time you were away. I’m more interested to hear about what is going to happen at the Wall. Is there still a Wall?”

Ned laughed. “There is some form of wall. It’s a bit broken, and though it seems that the white walkers are all gone, and the wildlings are gone, Benjen wants to lead an expedition to the lands beyond the wall to ensure that everything is sorted. I told him that if he wished to lead such an expedition he could do so. I want to spend some time here with you all before I ever head north again.”

Catelyn smiled. “I am glad of that, my love. Truly I am. Though do you think that there could be anything beyond the wall still. After all there were things there for some thousands of years, who knows  whether they remain there still.”

Ned sighed, he had thought over this and truthfully he did not know. “If I am being truthful, my love, I am not sure. I think that whatever was beyond the wall came and tried to take the Wall, and was defeated as best as we could managed. We still have the Dragonglass that was used and therefore I feel that things should be easier should something such as that ever come back again.”

His wife nodded. “That makes sense, my love. Now come enough of that, let us return to our children.” Ned smiled, he looked forward to the time of peace with his wife and their children.

* * *

 

**King Jon I Baratheon**

The crowd stood before him, or rather below him. He was dressed in the colours of his house, his wife at his side, his family behind them, his son was in his arms. Baby Steffon who he had known nothing about because of the war, until he had returned from the battle, with Viserys Targaryen’s head on a spear. He smiled at his wife, and she smiled back at him. Steffon gurgled slightly and he laughed. Jon stood on the balcony, looking at the people gathered below and he spoke.

“We have faced difficulty, there were foreign invaders who tried to take what was not theirs. They brought harm to parts of our Kingdom, but we worked together and we made sure that they could not succeed. They were fools and they were idiots, and they would never succeed. They did not know that, but we did. We knew that working together we would triumph over evil.” The crowd roared its approval. Jon smiled and continued. “For their part in helping defeat the enemy, Lord Robert Arryn and Lord Tywin Lannister have been granted the right of carrying the swords of state for the ceremonies to follow.” That was one of the highest honours someone could be given, his grandfather had been saved by his appearance at the battle against the Dothraki. “The Dothraki have been destroyed down to the last man, woman and child, they shall never haunt our lands again.” He had made sure of that, leading the bands to kill down the fools who had tried to hurt his land. There were more cheers at that. “My brother, Prince Tommen shall serve as Prince of Storm’s End. I am delighted to announce his betrothal to Lady Sansa Stark.” There were cheers there as well, Tommen had become quite popular. “I am also happy to announce that Daenerys Targaryen has agreed to join the Faith never again shall she or her ilk try and disturb the peace.” More cheers. The girl’s child had been killed. He ended the speech by saying. “We have fought long and hard and now we shall bring peace to the realm and ensure all can benefit. My son, Prince Steffon is the new Prince of Dragonstone, heir to the throne and the future.” The crowd cheered. He then turned and kissed Margaery, deeply, when he pulled back she smiled and he returned the smile. Together they turned and walked back into the Red Keep. Three hundred years after Aegon Targaryen had conquered Westeros, things were finally settling down.


End file.
